wishes to go?"

Mr. Clisson shook his head. "It is simply a matter of routine, sir.
Timmins is a very excellent man, but the invariable rule is that no
one remains after they are fifty-five."

"After they are fifty-five?" repeated Christopher slowly.

"Not those employed in manual labour: with very few exceptions that
is. Timmins will be fifty-five next month. He suffers from rheumatism
already, I find."

Christopher never took his eyes from the other's face.

"He would be pensioned, I suppose."

"Oh, dear me, no. We have no pension list. Timmins has received very
high wages. He has no doubt put by a nice little sum."

"How long has he worked for--for us?"

"I cannot tell without reference. I believe for twenty years or so. I
can easily ascertain."

Christopher stared out of the window for so long that the head clerk
thought he had forgotten the matter and was disagreeably surprised
when he spoke again.

"I shall be at Stormly this week and will see if Timmins wishes to
retire or not. You have no fault to find with him as a gardener, I
suppose?"

Mr. Clisson smiled. "A man who has served for twenty years will not be
an indifferent workman sir. Timmins' accounts are exemplary."

"The matter will stand over. Please see no one is dismissed under this
age regulation without my knowledge. That is all now." His manner was
as curt again as his father's. Mr. Clisson closed the door behind him
with a vague feeling that the two years of his authority were but a
dream and that the thin, square figure behind the office table had
unaccountably widened out to the portly proportions of his old
master.

Christopher drew to him the pile of letters he had reserved and fell
to work. He dared not allow himself to think yet, but now and again
when his heart and soul ran counter to the tenor of what he read he
put out his hand and touched the little green knife his father had
handled for some unknown person's sake.

CHAPTER XXXVII

"I understand the fortune well enough now," said Christopher bitterly;
"anyone can do it if they take one aspect of things and subordinate
everybody and everything to it."

He was at Marden again. It was a glorious spring evening and Caesar's
couch was drawn up to the open window. Mr. Aston sat on the far side
of it and Christopher leant against the window-frame smoking moodily.

"You will dissipate it fast enough at the rate you are going,"
remarked Caesar. His eyes followed every m