ed to do it, if it can be
done."

"A matter of money, Lady--a mere matter of money. You will have to buy
the property, that is all. Now, let us see what it will cost, if
fortune goes with me," and he took pen and paper and began to write down
figures.

Finally he rose, sighing and shaking his head. "Two thousand pounds," he
groaned; "a vast sum, but I can't lessen it by a shilling--there are so
many to be bought. Yes; L1000 in gifts and L1000 as loan to his Majesty,
who does not repay."

"Two thousand pounds!" exclaimed Cicely in dismay; "oh! how shall I find
so much, whose first year's rents are already pledged?"

"Know you the worth of those jewels?" asked Jacob, looking at her.

"Nay; the half of that, perhaps."

"Let us say double that, and then right cheap."

"Well, if so," replied Cicely, with a gasp, "where shall we sell them?
Who has so much money?"

"I'll try to find it, or what is needful. Now, Cousin Emlyn," he added
sarcastically, "you see where my profit lies. I buy the gems at half
their value, and the rest I keep."

"In your own words: go to!" said Emlyn, "and keep your gibes until we
have more leisure."

The old man thought a while, and said--

"It grows late, but the evening is pleasant, and I think I need some
air. That crack-brained, red-haired fellow of yours will watch you while
I am gone, and for mercy's sake be careful with those candles. Nay, nay;
you must have no fire, you must go cold. After what you said to me, I
can think of naught but fire. It is for this night only. By to-morrow
evening I'll prepare a place where Abbot Maldon himself might sit
unscorched in the midst of hell. But till then make out with clothes.
I have some furs in pledge that I will send up to you. It is your own
fault, and in my youth we did not need a fire on an autumn day. No more,
no more," and he was gone, nor did they see him again that night.

On the following morning, as they sat at their breakfast, Jacob Smith
appeared, and began to talk of many things, such as the badness of the
weather--for it rained--the toughness of the ham, which he said was not
to be compared to those they cured at Blossholme in his youth, and the
likeness of the baby boy to his mother.

"Indeed, no," broke in Cicely, who felt that he was playing with them;
"he is his father's self; there is no look of me in him."

"Oh!" answered Jacob; "well, I'll give my judgment when I see the
father. By the way, let me read that note ag