selfish and
impertinent, since was it not a selfish impertinence in him to ask any
woman to link her fortune with his in the present state of his affairs?

Let us therefore make excuses for his words and outward behaviour, for
at heart Leonard had much to trouble him.

When the cloth had been cleared away and they were alone again, Tom
spoke to his brother, who was moodily filling his pipe.

"What shall we do to-night, Leonard?" he said.

"Go to bed, I suppose," he answered.

"See here, Leonard," said his brother again, "what do you say to having
a last look at the old place?"

"If you wish, Tom, but it will be painful."

"A little pain more or less can scarcely hurt us, old fellow," said Tom,
laying his thin hand on his brother's shoulder.

Then they started. A quarter of an hour's walking brought them to the
Hall. The snow had ceased falling now and the night was beautifully
clear, but before it ceased it had done a welcome office in hiding from
view all the litter and wreckage of the auction, which make the scene
of a recent sale one of the most desolate sights in the world. Never had
the old house looked grander or more eloquent of the past than it did on
that night to the two brothers who were dispossessed of their heritage.
They wandered round it in silence, gazing affectionately at each
well-known tree and window, till at length they came to the gun-room
entrance. More from habit than for any other reason Leonard turned the
handle of the door. To his surprise it was open; after the confusion of
the sale no one had remembered to lock it.

"Let us go in," he said.

They entered and wandered from room to room till they reached the
greater hall, a vast and oak-roofed chamber built after the fashion of
the nave of a church, and lighted by a large window of ecclesiastical
design. This window was filled with the armorial bearings of many
generations of the Outram family, wrought in stained glass and placed
in couples, for next to each coat of arms were the arms of its bearer's
dame. It was not quite full, however, for in it remained two blank
shields, which had been destined to receive the escutcheons of Thomas
Outram and his wife.

"They will never be filled now, Leonard," said Tom, pointing to these;
"curious, isn't it, not to say sad?"

"Oh! I don't know," answered his brother; "I suppose that the Cohens
boast some sort of arms, or if not they can buy them."

"I should think that they would have the