When they all went away Mr. Sandford felt a little lonely, left by himself in the house, and perhaps it was that as much as anything else that set him thinking again. His wife had pressed the question of what Lizzie would want if she married young Moulton, who was only a journalist, on several occasions, until at last they had both decided that a small allowance might be made to her in place of a fortune. “Fifty pounds is the interest of a thousand, and that is what she will have when we die,” Mrs. Sandford said, who was not learned in per cents. “I think we might give her fifty pounds a year, Edward.” “Fifty pounds will not do much good,” he said. “Not in their housekeeping, perhaps; but to have even fifty pounds will be a great thing for _her_. It will make her so much more comfortable.” Thus they concluded the matter between them, though not without a certain hesitation on Mr. Sandford’s part. It was strange that he should hesitate. He had always been so liberal, ready to give. There was no reason why he should take fright now. There was the millionaire’s cheque for the “Black Prince,” which had just been paid into the bank, leaving a comfortable balance to their credit. There was no pressure of any kind for the moment. To those who had known what it was to await their next payment very anxiously in order to pay very pressing debts, and had seen the little stream of money flowing, flowing away, till it almost seemed to be on the point of disappearing altogether, the ease of having a considerable sum to their credit was indescribable; but Mrs. Sandford was more and more wrapped up in the children, and though never indifferent, yet a little detached in every-day thought and action from her husband. She did not ask him as usual about his commissions and his future work. She seemed altogether at ease in her mind about everything that was not the boys and the girls. CHAPTER III.