From that day forward Ambrose Cortelyon seemed to regard his niece with a certain amount of suspicion and distrust, but it was a distrust that found no expression in words, and although Nell was conscious of an undefinable change in her uncle\'s manner towards her, she was wholly at a loss to what cause to attribute it.

The Squire was a man who expected those of his household, and all who were in any way dependent on him, not merely to believe as he believed, but to share his conviction that whatever decision he might come to in any given set of circumstances was the right one, and that all who differed from him were, theoretically, either fools or worse. In short, he was one of that numerous class who have a firm belief in their own infallibility in all the concerns of life; and as he was an autocrat in his own domain, with nobody to contradict him, it was not to be expected that his opinion of himself would become less confirmed with advancing years. When, therefore, his niece chose to impugn his action in a certain affair--and he now called to mind that it was not the first time she had done so--and even to imply, not by her words but by her manner, that his treatment of his grandson, or, to speak correctly, his absolute neglect of him, was both cruel and unjust, he was not, at any rate at first, so much angered as amazed at her audacity in daring to set up her feeble girl\'s will in opposition to his own, and, indeed, at her presumption in venturing to question his decision in any way.

Nor, when he came to think the matter over at his leisure, did his surprise, not unleavened with resentment, diminish. He told himself that he could not have believed it of her; she had hurt him in a tender place, and he felt as if she could never be quite the same to him again as she had been in the past: and she never was.

It is just possible that the Squire\'s little smoulder of resentment against his niece would gradually have died out had he not been beset by a certain underlying consciousness, of which he vainly strove to rid himself, that all through Nell had been undeniably in the right and he indisputably in the wrong. Had he but seen his way to overlook his son\'s mésalliance, and have brought him and his wife to Stanbrook, in all probability Dick would still have been living. And then, with regard to this grandson of his, this child of a play-acting mother---- But when he got as far as that in his musings his passion seemed to choke him. No, he had done right, quite right; no other course was open to him. Come what might, he would never acknowledge the brat. His blood was tainted; he was no true Cortelyon. But all his arguing with himself did not suffice to pluck out the hidden thorn; it was still there, rankling in his flesh. But if he could not get rid of it, no one save himself should know of its existence, and he swore a great oath that in the matter of his grandson he would not go back from his word.

A day or two after her interview with her uncle Nell replied to Mr. McManus\'s letter. What she wished him to do was to inform Mr. Dare that he need be under no apprehension that Mr. Cortelyon would claim his grandson or interfere in any way with the boy\'s future. She further asked to be informed of the latter\'s address when Mr. Dare should have settled upon a home for him.

To this the old tobacconist replied in the course of a week or two. What he had to tell her was that for the present Mr. Dare had decided to let Evan remain at Lawn Cottage in the care of Mrs. Mardin; but that should he later think well to remove the child, Miss Baynard should be duly advised of the change.

And there for the present the matter rested.

When Squire Cortelyon found himself once more at home, he went back to his old mode of life with an added relish. He knew now that he had just escaped a great danger. He had been led to believe that the operation he was advised to undergo was of a very simple nature, but a casual remark of the great London doctor, which he chanced to overhear, had served to open his eyes after a very uncomfortable fashion. In reality, the operation was anything but a simple one, in view of possible consequences in the case of a man of threescore years and ten. However, all is well that ends well. The dreaded consequences had not developed themselves. He had come back home feeling a new man, with every prospect of a renewed lease of life, and he smiled grimly to himself to think how "that scoundrel of a Banks"--his local medico--had succeeded in thoroughly hoodwinking him.

So he went back to the old familiar routine as if there had never been a break in it, save that life seemed to have taken on an added sweetness now that he knew what he had escaped. He trembled when he thought of the risk he had run, not merely in one way, but in another, for had the operation had a fatal termination he would have died intestate (he had torn up his will after his quarrel with Dick and had never made another), in which case his detested grandson would have been his heir-at-law and have inherited everything. It was enough to put him in a cold sweat when he thought of it. Of course, the day would come when he could no longer defer asking himself the question, "To whom or to what shall I leave my property?" But it was an uncomfortable question to face, and a difficult one to answer; so, as there seemed no immediate need for answering it, he shelved it till what he chose to term "a more convenient time."

Pleasant to him were those long forenoons in the library, with no company save that of Andry Luce, who kept his accounts, looked after his rents, and to whom he dictated his correspondence. Pleasant it was, with the help of Andry\'s sturdy arm, to stroll slowly about the grounds, watching the gardeners and laborers at their work, chatting with his bailiff, and giving his orders about this or the other.

Not less pleasant was it, when the fit took him, to have himself driven in his old shandrydan to one or other of his outlying properties, some of which lay many miles away, and satisfy himself that everything was going on as it should do, which meant so far as the interests of his own pocket were concerned.

But when the weather was bad, and he could not get out of doors, he had other occupations wherewith to engage his time. He was an ardent numismatist, and was very proud of his collection of coins and medals, to which he kept adding from time to time as opportunity served. He was also something of a bibliophile, and possessed a small but rather choice collection of rare books and illuminated MSS. He would gloat over these treasures as a miser gloats over his gold, and he derived the most intense satisfaction from the belief (which on no account would he have had disturbed) that his collections contained two or three absolutely unique specimens in the way of coins such as no other cabinet could match.

And so some months passed away, and no such person as young Evan Cortelyon might have been in existence for any mention of him between uncle and niece.

Then, as the winter crept springward, the Squire became unpleasantly conscious that his physical powers were slowly, almost imperceptibly, declining. For some little time he succeeded in persuading himself that it was a mere temporary faiblesse from which he was suffering, due probably, in a great measure, to the moist oppressiveness of an unhealthy season, which was carrying off numbers of younger people than he. But when, at length, the weather vane on the stables veered from southwest to northeast, and stuck there day after day, as if it would never move again, bringing with it dry, sunny morns, and crisp, bracing nights, he was obliged to seek for some other excuse for his growing weakness. Not yet, however, would he give in and summon Dr. Banks. Although the son on whom he had at one time built such hopes was dead and gone, not for years had existence been sweeter to him than it was just then, and yet, to all seeming, it was gradually but surely slipping away from him. He felt as if a great wrong were being done him. What was Providence about?

At length his weakness so far increased that he reluctantly authorized Andry to summon Dr. Banks, who had attended him, off and on, from the date of his accident, and in the course of years had extracted more guineas from his purse than the Squire cared to reckon up.

"You have been very remiss, Mr. Cortelyon, very remiss indeed," said the fussy little rural practitioner when he had completed his brief examination, and had listened to the Squire\'s recital of his symptoms. "You ought to have sent for me six weeks ago, if not earlier than that. There has been a serious lowering of the vital forces, and, at your time of life----"

"At my time of life! Damme! what d\'ye mean? You don\'t mean to call me an old man, and I not seventy-three till next birthday! Zounds! I\'m only just in my prime. Banks, you\'re an ass! It will be time enough for you to begin to hint at my age--only to hint at it, mind you--a dozen years hence."

Dr. Banks did his best, but his best in this instance proved of no avail. The diminution of strength still went slowly on. At length the Squire became too weak to go out of doors, even for a drive, and then after a time the day came when he was unable to leave his bedroom.

At Dr. Banks\'s request, that well-known physician, Dr. Mills, of Lanchester, was called into consultation, but all he could do, after making one or two minor suggestions, was to accord his full approval to the treatment already adopted by his colleague.

"I won\'t pay you your fee, doctor--hang me if I will, sir--till you tell me what you think of me," said the Squire in his masterful way when Dr. Mills was ready t............