woke him with her warm embraces. "Oh, mamma,
don't," said the boy. Then he shook himself, and sat up in his bed.
"Mamma, when is Jack coming?" he said. Let her train them as she
would, they would always ask for Jack. "Go to sleep, my darling,
my darling, my darling!" she said, kissing him again and again.
"Trafford," she said, whispering to herself, as she went back to her
own room, trying the sound of the title he would have to use. It had
been all arranged in her own mind how it was to be, if such a thing
should happen.

"Go down," she said to her maid soon afterwards, "and ask Mrs.
Crawley whether his Lordship would wish to see me." Mrs. Crawley was
the nurse. But the maid brought back word that "My Lord" did not wish
to see "My Lady." For three hours he lay stupefied in his sorrow;
and for three hours she sat alone, almost in the dark. We may doubt
whether it was all triumph. Her darling had got what she believed to
be his due; but the memory that she had longed for it,--almost prayed
for it,--must have dulled her joy.

There was no such regret with Mr. Greenwood. It seemed to him that
Fortune, Fate, Providence, or what not, had only done its duty. He
believed that he had in truth foreseen and foretold the death of the
pernicious young man. But would the young man's death be now of any
service to him? Was it not too late? Had they not all quarrelled with
him? Nevertheless he had been avenged.

So it was at Trafford Park for three hours. Then there came a postboy
galloping on horseback, and the truth was known. Lady Kingsbury went
again to her children, but this time she did not kiss them. A gleam
of glory had come there and had passed away;--but yet there was
something of relief.

Why had he allowed himself to be so cowed on that morning? That was
Mr. Greenwood's thought.

The poor Marquis fell into a slumber almost immediately, and on the
next morning had almost forgotten that the first telegram had come.

CHAPTER XIX.

FALSE TIDINGS.

But there was another household which the false tidings of Lord
Hampstead's death reached that same night. The feelings excited
at Trafford had been very keen,--parental agony, maternal hope,
disappointment, and revenge; but in that other household there was
suffering quite as great. Mr. Fay himself did not devote much time
during the day either to the morning or the evening newspapers. Had
he been alone at Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird's he would have heard
noth