to reflect that Frederick Massingbird
might die. Scarcely had it that he _could_ die. A man, young and strong,
what was likely to take him off? John had died, it was true; but John's
death had been a violent one. Had Roy argued the point at all--which he
did not, for it had never occurred to his mind--he might have assumed
that because John had died, Fred was the more likely to live. It is a
somewhat rare case for two brothers to be cut down in their youth and
prime, one closely following upon the other.

Roy lived in a cottage standing by itself, a little beyond Clay Lane,
but not so far off as the gamekeeper's. On the morning when the bells
had rung out--to the surprise and vexation of Lionel--Roy happened to be
at home. Roy never grudged himself holiday when it could be devoted to
the benefit of his wife. A negative benefit she may have thought it,
since it invariably consisted in what Roy called a "blowing of her up."

Mrs. Roy had heard that the Australian mail was in. But the postman had
not been to their door, therefore no letter could have arrived for them
from Luke. A great many mails, as it appeared to Mrs. Roy, had come in
with the like result. That Luke had been murdered, as his master, John
Massingbird, had been before him, was the least she feared. Her fears
and troubles touching Luke were great; they were never at rest; and her
tears fell frequently. All of which excited the ire of Roy.

She sat in a rocking-chair in the kitchen--a chair which had been new
when the absent Luke was a baby, and which was sure to be the seat
chosen by Mrs. Roy when she was in a mood to indulge any passing
tribulation. The kitchen opened to the road, as the kitchens of many of
the dwellings did open to it; a parlour was on the right, which was used
only on the grand occasion of receiving visitors; and the stairs,
leading to two rooms above, ascended from the kitchen. Here she sat,
silently wiping away her dropping tears with a red cotton
pocket-handkerchief. Roy was not in the sweetest possible temper himself
that morning, so, of course, he turned it upon her.

"There you be, a-snivelling as usual! I'd have a bucket always at my
feet, if I was you. It might save the trouble of catching rain-water."

"If the letter-man had got anything for us, he'd have been round here an
hour ago," responded Mrs. Roy, bursting into unrestrained sobs.

Now, this happened to be the very grievance that was affecting the
gentleman's temper--