On the same day that Fred Weldon fought with Clarence Raybold by the side of that Devon river, his father, the reputed wealthy Australian, died a bankrupt, leaving his family almost paupers. He had been involved in the disastrous land boom, and forced to mortgage all his stock and estates. Indeed, for the past five or six years he had only been able to carry on his station through the leniency of his creditors. When death overtook him, he had been threatened with foreclosure, which took place directly after his funeral. It was a couple of weeks before the expiration of the last term for the three school friends, when a black-edged letter came to inform Fred about the death of his father and his own penniless condition. A double blow that was, which prostrated the poor Australian boy, and took the sunshine out of his life. He dearly loved his father, although he had not seen that father for the six years he had spent at Shebourne Academy. To know that he should never again on earth see the kindly face of that loved parent nearly broke his tender heart. He had been brought up under the belief that, as far as he was concerned, the seeking for a living was not a consideration which need occupy his attention. He might go in for a profession as an amusement to fill out time, or study the wool markets in London, and afterwards take up his father's gentlemanly occupation as a squatter. Money had never hitherto troubled his young mind. A liberal allowance had been regularly paid to Dr Heardman for his use outside his school and clothing fees. Up to this date he always had the most lavishly lined purse in the school. Not being a cad, he never paraded his riches in the least. He was free and open-handed, and ready always to give without considering or remembering; but with the instincts of generations of gentlemen in his blood, he gave or lent delicately, and without allowing his right hand to know what his left hand did. He was in consequence universally liked and respected, instead of being hated, as ostentatious givers generally are. A bluff, offhand manner covered a very warm and tender nature, as the brown freckles covered his clear skin, until the original tints had to be guessed at. He had speckled, brown-grey eyes, a good deal resembling the colour of the iron stains so plentifully bespattered over his face. This monotony of yellow-brown gave him a bark-like appearance that did not add to his beauty at first sight.