his claim under the somewhat extravagant will. It is not altogether
improbable that I shall find means of persuading him to stay here with
his cows and pigs."

Deringham slightly accentuated part of the sentence, and again a faint
tinge of colour crept into the face of the girl and vindictiveness into
her eyes, for she understood him. The man who had on his deathbed
bequeathed Carnaby to his grandson had driven out the young man's
father years ago, and approaching dissolution had possibly somewhat
clouded his faculties when he made the will. Deringham, who had
married into the Alton family, and figured as a legatee, was, with the
exception of the disinherited, the nearest of kin, and it had been
generally expected that Carnaby would fall to his daughter; but perhaps
in an endeavour to treat both sides fairly, its dying owner had, in the
face of his lawyer's protests, inserted one clause which, for financial
reasons, rendered a second union between the houses of Alton and
Deringham distinctly advisable. There was, however, a high spirit in
the girl, and she looked at her father steadily.

"But you were left the money, or most of it?" she said.

"Yes," said Deringham grimly. "I was left the money."

The girl asked nothing further, for there was something in the man's
face which warned her not to press that subject. She knew that her
father had long acted as financial adviser to the late owner of
Carnaby, but it was not astonishing that Deringham had not told her he
had exceeded the discretion allowed him, and been singularly
unfortunate in his speculations.