CHAPTER XXIII.

"Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west,
Toll slowly.

And I said in underbreath-All our life is mixed with death,
And who knoweth which is best?

Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west,

Toll slowly.

And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incom

pleteness,

Round our restlessness, His rest."

E. B. BROWNING,

N the morning after Luke had undertaken his fruitless errand to Farmer Trudgeon, all Marden was startled by the sudden news that Miss Fairbairn was dead.

The report had so often been spread before that at first many were incredulous as to its truth, and could not really believe that the old lady had gone off the scene in so sudden a manner. Yet so it was, and the slow strokes of the passing bell soon confirmed the tidings which had taken all the

village by surprise. An hour afterwards the old shepherd came crying to tell Margie how Molly had found her mistress lying dead in her bed that morning, and already cold and stiff.

On the previous evening she had been perfectly herself, and had given all her usual orders before she went to bed; and even desired Molly to wind up the big clock on the stairs, which was a custom of many years standing, and never known to be omitted on market-days at the Manor-house.

Now the clock was still going; its heavy pendulum swung backwards and forwards at its accustomed pace, but the mistress, whose will for fifty years had been law in the farm, was lying cold and motionless in the grim silence of death.

No wonder the whole place was upside down, as old Martin expressed it that morning, no one knowing where to turn or what to be at next. A messenger had been despatched to Mr. Maynard, at Hazeltree, but Cornelius was known to be still at Cheltenham, and at least a day must elapse before he could arrive, and meanwhile there was no one to give orders or settle anything.

None the less speculation was rife in King's Marden that day, and tongues were busy with the poor old lady's affairs, determining how her money would be left, and who would succeed her at the Manor-house,

Most people were of opinion that Cornelius Maynard had been named her heir; others thought it more probable that his father would enjoy the property during his lifetime, and some again pronounced that Miss Fairbairn was of so whimsical a nature that she might have bequeathed her whole fortune to the county hospital, or, worse still, the new lunatic asylum.

Mrs. Plaskitt was, of course, one of the most excited persons, and came bustling up to Luke's at an early hour, to put a string of questions to her niece on the subject.

Here she was doomed to disappointment; for, in the first place, Margie said at once that she was perfectly ignorant how Miss Fairbairn's money was left; while in the second, Luke was too unwell to see any one, and Margie would not even admit her aunt into the parlour where her father was sitting by the fire.

He had never thoroughly got over the chill which he had caught on his wet walk back from West Marden, and complained of such burning heat and racking pains in his limbs, that Margie had, on her own responsibility, sent to ask Dr. Hockin to call as soon as he could spare time.

At the same time, she had sent word to Essie, begging her to come over if possible, for her father was so unlike himself, and so completely upset, that

she could not conceal the anxiety which she felt about him.

He sat by the fire, rocking himself to and fro, and always dwelling on the money matters which weighed so heavily on his mind. It was in vain that Margie tried to cheer him by every possible means; he kept recurring to the same painful subject again and again, and repeating the same words in a hopeless tone

"I must raise the money, or we shall be sold up; and what's to become of us then?"

In her alarm, Margie would have sent for Mr. Norman, as the friend best likely to tranquillize her father's mind; but, unluckily, he had been called away to the sick-bed of an old uncle, who was his only living relative, and had left a substitute in charge of the school. It was a positive relief, when, by dinner-time, Dr. Hockin at length arrived, and declared at once that Luke was far too unwell to be sitting up at all, and that he must go to bed

at once.

An hour later, Harry made his appearance from West Marden. Poor Essie had caught a bad cold, and, to her great sorrow, could not come herself; but Harry's presence was a real help to Margie, and did more to allay her father's disturbed state of mind than all Dr. Hockin's prescribed remedies. As soon as he had heard the cause of Luke's

trouble, he promised to go over to Wyndover himself, and assured the carpenter that if Job Marston, the landlord of the Boar's Head, would give his security, he would find no difficulty in obtaining the sum he required from one of the town lawyers.

Stannard's affairs, he also informed Luke, were not so bad as had at first been supposed; the young doctor had already acquired a good practice, and there were yet hopes that he might be able to pay the money he had borrowed, by Christmas, in which case all would be right.

Perhaps Harry spoke more hopefully than he felt; but at least his consolatory words had the desired effect. Luke became quieter, and told Margie he would try and sleep for a while.

She left him alone, and accompanied her brotherin-law to the door, with a warm expression of thanks.

"I am afraid he is really ill, Harry," she said sadly. "Dr. Hockin would say nothing, but I am sure he thought this was more than a common cold. What do you think, yourself?"

Harry was too cautious to commit himself to an opinion, but shook his head dubiously.

"I don't know," he said; "I think it's the money that's worrying him. I wish I'd known before; but I never thought he'd lend Stannard money."