‘But there was nothing in your power—that is exactly it. I did the only thing that could be done. I looked my circumstances full in the face, and the sight was not inspiriting. Presently came a man with what I wanted—money—any amount of money. I—I sold Wellfield.’ ‘Sold it!’ echoed the young man, in a voice of horror and incredulity combined, as he started from his chair, and looked into his father’s face. ‘You are dreaming. You are delirious. Let me call Sister Ursula—you——’ ‘Sit down again!’ said his father, turning upon him eyes so calm and lucid in their perfect reasonableness and self-possession, that Jerome felt his very heart give way within him. This sin had been committed. He had dreamed no ugly dream. He dropped into his chair again, propped his head upon his hands, and tried to take in what his father went on to say. ‘I sold it for forty thousand pounds to a man called Bolton, who had a wild desire to have it. He had some odd crotchet about it. It was a dream of his to have the old place——’ ‘But for you to dream of selling it,’ interrupted the young man, with suppressed passion. ‘Needs must when the devil drives. Had you been in my position—but there, I won’t argue. I did it. I sold it. I invested the money, and——’ ‘If the money is there, all is well,’ interrupted Jerome, eagerly. ‘It can be bought back again. That is what you mean, I suppose. You want to explain why Avice and I shall be poor and straitened after you have gone. Never mind, sir; there will be a pittance, I daresay. I am young. I can work, and I will do so. When Wellfield is ours again, we shall be content with very little else. Do not reproach yourself.’ ‘What are you talking about?’ retorted the other in a voice almost of anger, and the drops stood on his brow, for it was hard work to brave it out. ‘Do you suppose I should have made all this circumstance about it if the money had been there? I tell you the money is gone. It was invested—half in mortgages, and half in the Mutual Liability Bank of ——. The bank is gone—the newspaper—this morning. It was there I saw it—made me ill. The bank is limited, but the other half—liable—ah!’ His eyes closed; he sank back, his face very pale. For a moment Jerome did not move, but sat still, staring at the white face with a blank, stupid gaze. Then he said, quite audibly, for he had a vague impression that his father was unconscious: ‘Sold it! I would as soon have thought of selling my wife or my sister.’ ‘Would you?’ replied his father, opening his eyes unexpectedly upon Jerome. ‘When misfortune has resulted from any course, it is the easiest thing in the world to say you would never have done it. Had I not done it, you would have been a beggar years ago. For purchasing you years of enjoyment and prosperity, you reproach me. I have my reward.’