It was late when Jim descended. He found Stephen waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, and was conducted by him into a small bare room, sparsely furnished with two arm chairs, a few 'books and a table covered with writing materials. Herrick rather tired, threw himself into one of the chairs, and informed Stephen that he would stay the night. "Is my mother so ill?" asked the young man anxiously. "Pretty bad, but I have seen worse cases. Don't you trouble yourself Marsh. I'll do the best I can to save her life." "Save her life," echoed Stephen sadly. "Ah, what a terrible thing it will be if she dies now, when wealth is coming. She always wanted to be rich and now--life is very cruel." "That depends upon the way you look at it," said Jim. "Give me some supper Marsh, and a whisky. I feel rather played out." The meal was waiting in a poverty-stricken looking dining-room. Jim saw that the pauperism of the Marshes was no fiction. They were evidently terribly poor. Certainly the Colonel had done nothing to alleviate their distress. "He would not give us a penny," said Stephen after supper, and when they were smoking in the small room which proved to be the young man's special sanctum. "All the time he kept telling me that I was his heir, but refused to help my mother and me. I do not want to speak evil of the dead" added Stephen, "but Colonel Carr--" he shook his head. By this time Herrick had seen his patient sinking into a sleep, and leaving Petronella to call him should anything go wrong, was prepared for a little conversation. He utilised the time by asking Marsh about himself and his uncle. The young man answered him with the utmost frankness, and indeed seemed glad to have a friend in whom he could confide.