n a grey ulster and a blue and white necktie, and
looking better than Theobald had ever seen him in his life. It was
unprincipled. Was it for this that he had been generous enough to offer
to provide Ernest with decent clothes in which to come and visit his
mother's death-bed? Could any advantage be meaner than the one which
Ernest had taken? Well, he would not go a penny beyond the eight or nine
pounds which he had promised. It was fortunate he had given a limit. Why
he, Theobald, had never been able to afford such a portmanteau in his
life. He was still using an old one which his father had turned over to
him when he went up to Cambridge. Besides, he had said clothes, not a
portmanteau.

Ernest saw what was passing through his father's mind, and felt that he
ought to have prepared him in some way for what he now saw; but he had
sent his telegram so immediately on receiving his father's letter, and
had followed it so promptly that it would not have been easy to do so
even if he had thought of it. He put out his hand and said laughingly,
"Oh, it's all paid for--I am afraid you do not know that Mr Overton has
handed over to me Aunt Alethea's money."

Theobald flushed scarlet. "But why," he said, and these were the first
words that actually crossed his lips--"if the money was not his to keep,
did he not hand it over to my brother John and me?" He stammered a good
deal and looked sheepish, but he got the words out.

"Because, my dear father," said Ernest still laughing, "my aunt left it
to him in trust for me, not in trust either for you or for my Uncle
John--and it has accumulated till it is now over 70,000 pounds. But tell
me how is my mother?"

"No, Ernest," said Theobald excitedly, "the matter cannot rest here, I
must know that this is all open and above board."

This had the true Theobald ring and instantly brought the whole train of
ideas which in Ernest's mind were connected with his father. The
surroundings were the old familiar ones, but the surrounded were changed
almost beyond power of recognition. He turned sharply on Theobald in a
moment. I will not repeat the words he used, for they came out before he
had time to consider them, and they might strike some of my readers as
disrespectful; there were not many of them, but they were effectual.
Theobald said nothing, but turned almost of an ashen colour; he never
again spoke to his son in such a way as to make it necessary for him to
repeat what