"Partly. Sir Ralph died leaving a good deal of ready money. That will no doubt come to us in time, but for the present we cannot touch it in the absence of proof of the death of the youngest Ralph Dashwood. I mean the one who went to America. Old Lady Dashwood says she is sure that her husband did leave a will, and that he had divided all his money, with certain provisions. If that will could be found, we should be in a position to get rid of Mayfield. What a hateful thing this money is, and what misery it seems to bring everybody. But I am afraid that I am very selfish and exacting. Why should I worry you with our troubles?" "My shoulders are broad, and I have very few of my own," Ralph smiled. "Indeed, I am more interested than you imagine. As I told you today, I am a poor man, thanks to one who is a guest here at the present moment. But, still, don't forget the fable of the mouse and the lion. I may find a means of freeing you from the net yet. But here come the others." Mayfield emerged from the window on to the lawn. His cigar seemed to pollute the sweet-scented night; he was talking loudly to Sir George. "We shall know presently," he said. "The worst of living buried in the country is that one is out of touch with telegrams and telephones. I told my secretary to wire directly he heard from Worham and his partner." "Don't let us talk about it," said Sir George in a voice that shook a little. "Let us enjoy the beauty of the night . . . I began to wonder what had become of you, Darnley. So you and Mary have been communing with Nature together. You will have a cigar before you go?" Darnley declined the offer. He did not care to stay any longer in Mayfield's presence. And it was getting on to half-past ten, when he had promised to meet Slight. He made his excuses and passed across the lawn in the direction of the avenue. At the end of the rose garden he paused to look back. He saw the picture of the grand old house standing out in the moonlight; he could see Mary, pale and silent, a dainty figure in white and amber. He saw Mayfield bend familiarly to her, and the girl draw coldly away. There was a fierce tumult in his heart, a desire to go back and proclaim his story. He could stretch out a hand, and put an end to all that without delay. But he preferred to wait. He was going to win Mary, and wear her like a white rose on the shield of a knight. He was going to bend down the barrier of her pride, and win her for himself alone, _as_ himself, and not as a man who had the advantages of fortune on his side. These thoughts filled his mind as he walked down the avenue. He knew that he had far to go before the goal was in sight. He almost walked over a figure standing just inside the lodge gates, and his thoughts came tumbling to earth again. "I beg your pardon, Slight," he said. "I was miles away just now. Let us sit on this tree stump in sight of the old house and talk things over." CHAPTER IV. A LEAF FROM THE PAST