medical man, "if the property happened to be
in land?"

"I am not sure in that case. Do you happen
to know, Miss Garth, whether Mr. Vanstone's
property was in money or in land?"

"In money," replied Miss Garth. "I have
heard him say so on more than one occasion."

"Then I can relieve your mind by speaking
from my own experience. The law, if he has
died intestate, gives a third of his property to his
widow, and divides the rest equally among his
children."

"But if Mrs. Vanstone——?"

"If Mrs. Vanstone should die," pursued the
doctor, completing the question which Miss
Garth had not the heart to conclude for herself,
"I believe I am right in telling you that the
property would, as a matter of legal course, go to
the children. Whatever necessity there may be
for the interview which Mr. Pendril requests, I
can see no reason for connecting it with the
question of Mr. Vanstone's presumed intestacy.
But, by all means, put the question, for the
satisfaction of your own mind, to Mr. Pendril
himself."

Miss Garth withdrew to take the course which
the doctor advised. After communicating to
Mr. Pendril the medical decision which, thus
far, refused him the interview that he sought, she
added a brief statement of the legal question she
had put to the doctors; and hinted delicately at
her natural anxiety to be informed of the motives
which had led the lawyer to make his request.
The answer she received was guarded in the
extreme: it did not impress her with a favourable
opinion of Mr. Pendril. He confirmed the
doctors' interpretation of the law, in general
terms only; expressed his intention of waiting
at the cottage, in the hope that a change for the
better might yet enable Mrs. Vanstone to see
him; and closed his letter without the slightest
explanation of his motives, and without a word
of reference to the question of the existence, or
the non-existence, of Mr. Vanstone's will.

The marked caution of the lawyer's reply
dwelt uneasily on Miss Garth's mind, until the
long-expected event of the day recalled all her
thoughts to her one absorbing anxiety on Mrs.
Vanstone's account.

Early in the evening, the physician from London
arrived. He watched long by the bedside of
the suffering woman; he remained longer still in
consultation with his medical brethren; he went
back again to the sick-room, before Miss Garth
could prevail on him to communicate to her the
opinion at which he had arrived.

When he came out into the ante-chamber
for the second time, he silently took a chair
by her side. She looked in his face; and the
last faint hope died in her before he opened his
lips.

"I must speak the hard truth," he said, gently.
"All that can be done, has been done. The next
four-and-twenty hours, at most, will end your
suspense. If Nature makes no effort in that
time—I grieve to say it—you must prepare
yourself for the worst."

Those words said all: they were prophetic of
the end.

The night passed; and she lived through it.
The next day came; and she lingered on till the
clock pointed to five. At that hour, the tidings
of her husband's death had dealt the mortal blow.
When the hour came round again, the mercy of
God let her go to him in the better world. Her
daughters were kneeling at the bedside, as her
spirit passed away. She left them unconscious
of their presence; mercifully and happily
insensible to the pang of the last farewell.

Her child survived her till the evening was on
the wane, and the sunset was dim in the quiet
western heaven. As the darkness came, the light
of the frail little life—faint and feeble from the
first—flickered, and went out. All that was
earthly of mother and child lay, that night, on
the same bed. The Angel of Death had done his
awful bidding; and the two Sisters were left
alone in the world.

CHAPTER XII.

EARLIER than usual, on the morning of Thursday,
the twenty-third of July, Mr. Clare appeared
at the door of his cottage, and stepped out into
the little strip of garden attached to his
residence.

After he had taken a few turns backwards and
forwards, alone, he was joined by a spare, quiet,
grey-haired man, whose personal appearance was
totally devoid of marked character of any kind;
whose inexpressive face and conventionally-quiet
manner presented nothing that attracted
approval, and nothing that inspired dislike. This
was Mr. Pendril—this was the man on whose
lips hung the future of the orphans at Combe-
Raven.

"The time is getting on," he said, looking
towards the shrubbery, as he joined Mr. Clare.
"My appointment with Miss Garth is for eleven
o'clock: it only wants ten minutes of the hour."

"Are you to see her alone?" asked Mr. Clare.

"I left Miss Garth to decide—after warning
her, first of all, that the circumstances I am
compelled to disclose are of a very serious nature."

"And has she decided?"

"She writes me word that she mentioned my
appointment, and repeated the warning I had
given her, to both the daughters. The elder of
the two shrinks—and who can wonder at it?—
from any discussion connected with the future,
which requires her presence so soon as the day
after the funeral. The younger one appears to
have expressed no opinion on the subject. As I
understand it, she suffers herself to be passively
guided by her sister's example. My interview,
therefore, will take place with Miss Garth alone
—and it is a very great relief to me to know it."

He spoke the last words with more emphasis
and energy than seemed habitual to him. Mr.
Clare stopped, and looked at his guest
attentively.