"To my dazed eyes it looks like the Squire," was Mark's answer, slowly shaking his head, as one in perplexity. "But I know it cannot be. I stood at these gates as he was carried out to his last home in Barbrook churchyard. The Squire was older, too." "The Squire left a son, Mark." "Sir--sir!" burst forth the old man, after a pause, as the light flashed upon him. "Sir--sir! You surely are never the young heir, Mr. Rupert, we have all mourned as dead?" "Do you remember the young heir's features, Mark?" "Ay, I have never forgot them, sir." "Then look at mine." There was doubt no longer; and Mark Canham, in his enthusiastic joy forgetting his rheumatism, would almost have gone down on his knees in thankfulness. He brought himself up with a groan. "I be fit for nothing now but to nurse my rheumatiz, sir. And you be the true Rupert Trevlyn--Squire from henceforth? Oh, sir, say it!" "I am the Squire, Mark. But I came here to see another Rupert Trevlyn--he who will be Squire after me." Old Mark shook his head. He glanced towards the staircase as he spoke, and dropped his voice to a whisper, as if fearing that it might penetrate to one who was lying above. "If he don't get better soon, sir, he'll never live to be the Squire. He's very ill. Circumstances have been against him, it can't be denied; but I fear me it was in his constitution from the first to go off, as his father, poor Mr. Joe, went off afore him." "Nonsense," said the Squire. "We'll get him well again!" "And what of Chattaway?" asked old Canham. "He'll never forego his vengeance, sir. I have been in mortal fear ever since Master Rupert's been lying here. The fear had selfishness in it, maybe," he added, ingenuously; "for Chattaway'd turn me right off, without a minute's warning, happen he come to know of it. He's never liked my being at the lodge at all, sir; and would have sent me away times and again but for Miss Diana." "Ah," said the Squire. "Well, it does not rest with him now. What has he allowed you, Mark?" "Half-a-crown a week, sir." "Half-a-crown a week?" repeated Squire Trevlyn, his mouth curling with displeasure. "How have you lived?" "It have been a poor living at best, sir," was the simple answer. "Ann works hard, at home or out, but she don't earn much. Her eyes be bad, sir; happen you may call to mind they was always weak and ailing. The Squire fixed my pay here at five shillings a week, and Chattaway changed it when he come into power. Miss Diana's good to us; but for her and the bit o' money Ann can earn, I don't see as we could ha' got along at all." "Would you like the half-a-crown changed back again to five shillings, Mark?" "I should think it was riches come to me right off, Squire." "Then you may reckon upon it from this day." He moved to the staircase as he spoke, leaving the old man in an ecstasy of delight. Ann Canham, who had shrunk into hiding, came forward. Her father turned triumphantly.