In another second he was gone, and Mr. Cardus was left thinking, among other things, of that look in old Atterleigh’s eyes, which he could not get out of his mind. Thus did he finally accomplish the revenge to which he had devoted his life. CHAPTER IX. MAD ATTERLEIGH’S LAST RIDE A month had passed since Mr. de Talor had crept, utterly crushed, from the presence of the man whom Providence had appointed to mete out to him his due. During this time Mr. Cardus had been busy from morning till night. He was always a busy man, writing daily with his own hand an almost incredible number of letters; for he carried on all, or nearly all, his great affairs by correspondence, but of late his work seemed to have doubled. In the course of that month the society in the neighbourhood of Kesterwick experienced a pleasurable sensation of excitement, for suddenly the De Talor family vanished off the face of the Kesterwick world, and the Ceswick Ness estates, after being advertised, were put up for sale, and bought, so said report, by a London firm of lawyers on behalf of an unknown client. The De Talors were gone, where to nobody knew, nor did they much care to inquire—that is, with the exception of the servants whose wages were left unpaid, and the tradespeople to whom large sums were owing. They inquired vigorously enough, but without the smallest result; the De Talors had gone and left no trace, except the trace of bankruptcy, and Kesterwick knew them no more, but was glad over the sensation made by their disappearance. But on one Saturday Mr. Cardus’s business seemed to come to a sudden stop. He wrote some letters and put them in the post-bag, and then he went to admire his orchids. “Life,” he said aloud to himself, “shall be all orchids now; my work is done. I will build a new house for Brazilian sons, and spend two hundred pounds on stocking it. Well, I can afford it.” This was about five o’clock. Half an hour later, when he had well examined his flowers, he strolled out Titheburgh Abbey way, and here he met Ernest and his wife, who had been sitting in their favourite spot. “Well, my dears,” he said, “and how are you?” “Pretty well, uncle, thank you; and how are you?” “I? Oh, I am very jolly indeed for an old man; as jolly as an individual who has just bid good-bye to work for ever should be,” he said. “Why, Reginald, what _do_ you mean?” “Mean, Dorothy, my dear? I mean that I have wound up my affairs and retired on a modest competence. Ah, you young people should be grateful to me, for let me tell you that everything is now in apple-pie order, and when I slip off you will have no trouble at all, except to pay the probate duty, and that will be considerable. I never quite knew till a week ago how rich I was; but, as I said the other day, everything I have touched has turned to gold. It will be a large fortune for you to manage, my dears; you will find it a great responsibility.”