of man, but we none of us know him. And if, as is very probable, this
is only an affair of health, it would be wrong in you to go to a
stranger. It might look--"

"Look what, mother?"

"People might think--he, I mean--that you wanted to interfere."

"But who ought to interfere on his behalf if I don't?"

"Quite true, dearest; I understand what you mean, and know how good
you are. But perhaps Mr. Prendergast might not. He might think you
wanted--"

"Wanted what, mother? I don't understand you."

"Wanted to take the things out of your father's hands."

"Oh, mother!"

"He doesn't know you. And, what is more, I don't think he knows much
of your father. Don't go to him yet." And Herbert promised that he
would not.

"And you don't think that this man was ever here before?" he asked.

"Well, I rather think he was here once before; many years ago--soon
after you went to school."

"So long ago as that?"

"Yes; not that I remember him, or, indeed, ever knew of his coming
then, if he did come. But Jones says that she thinks she remembers
him."

"Did Jones see him now?"

"Yes; she was in the hall as he passed through on his way out. And it
so happened that she let him in and out too when he came before. That
is, if it is the same man."

"That's very odd."

"It did not happen here. We were at Tenby for a few weeks in the
summer."

"I remember; you went there with the girls just when I went back to
school."

"Jones was with us, and Richard. We had none other of our own
servants. And Jones says that the same man did come then; that he
stayed with your father for an hour or two; and that when he left,
your father was depressed--almost as he was yesterday. I well
remember that. I know that a man did come to him at Tenby; and--oh,
Herbert!"

"What is it, mother? Speak out at any rate to me."

"Since that man came to him at Tenby he has never been like what he
was before."

And then there was more questioning between them about Jones and her
remembrances. It must be explained that Jones was a very old and very
valued servant. She had originally been brought up as a child by Mrs.
Wainwright, in that Dorsetshire parsonage, and had since remained
firm to the fortunes of the young lady, whose maid she had become on
her first marriage. As her mistress had been promoted, so had Jones.
At first she had been Kitty to all the world, now she was Mrs. Jones
to the world at large, Jones to Sir Thomas and her mistress an