Cursed by a Fortune. Fenn George Manville

much of a catch. Talk about a man’s wife being a clinging vine; she’ll be a regular weeping willow.”

      “Ha! ha! very good, my boy,” said Wilton, senior; “but no fear of that. Poor girl, look at her losses.”

      “But she keeps going on getting into deeper misery. Look at her.”

      “It only shows the sweet tenderness of her disposition, Claud, my dear,” said his mother.

      “Yes, of course,” said his father, “but you’ll soon make her dry her eyes.”

      “And she really is a very sweet, lovable, and beautiful girl, my dear,” said Mrs Wilton.

      “Tidy, mother; only her eyes always look as red as a ferret’s.”

      “Claud, my dear, you shouldn’t – such comparisons are shocking.”

      “Oh, all right, mother. Very well; as I am such a clever, man-of-the-world sort of a chap, I’ll sacrifice myself for the family good. But I say, dad, she really has that hundred and fifty thou – ?”

      “Every shilling of it, my boy, and – er – really that must not go out of the family.”

      “Well, it would be a pity. Only you will have enough to leave me to keep up the old place.”

      “Well – er – I – that is – I have been obliged to mortgage pretty heavily.”

      “I say, guv’nor,” cried the young man, looking aghast; “you don’t mean to say you’ve been hit?”

      “Hit? No, my dear, certainly not,” cried Mrs Wilton.

      “Oh, do be quiet, ma. Father knows what I mean.”

      “Well, er – yes, my boy, to be perfectly frank, I have during the past few years made a – er – two or three rather unfortunate speculations, but, as John Garstang says – ”

      “Oh, hang old Garstang! This is horrible, father; just now, too, when I wanted to bleed you rather heavily.”

      “Claud, my darling, don’t, pray don’t use such dreadful language.”

      “Will you be quiet, ma! It’s enough to make a fellow swear. Are you quite up a tree, guv’nor?”

      “Oh, no, no, my boy, not so bad as that. Things can go oh for years just as before, and, er – in reason, you know – you can have what money you require; but I want you to understand that you must not look forward to having this place, and er – to see the necessity for thinking seriously about a wealthy marriage. You grasp the position now?”

      “Dad, it was a regular smeller, and you nearly knocked me out of time. I saw stars for the moment.”

      “My dearest boy, what are you talking about?” asked Mrs Wilton, appealingly.

      “Oh, bother! But, I say, guv’nor, I’m glad you spoke out to me – like a man.”

      “To a man, my boy,” said the father, holding out his hand, which the son eagerly grasped. “Then now we understand each other?”

      “And no mistake, guv’nor.”

      “You mustn’t let her slip through your fingers, my boy.”

      “Likely, dad!”

      “You must be careful; no more scandals – no more escapades – no follies of any kind.”

      “I’ll be a regular saint, dad. I say, think I ought to read for the church?”

      “Good gracious me, Claud, my dear, what do you mean?”

      “White choker, flopping felt, five o’clock tea, and tennis, mother. Kate would like that sort of thing.”

      Wilton, senior, smiled grimly.

      “No, no, my boy, be the quiet English gentleman, and let her see that you really care for her and want to make her happy. Poor girl, she wants love and sympathy.”

      “And she shall have ’em, dad, hot and strong. A hundred and fifty thou – !”

      “Would clear off every lien on the property, my boy, and it would be a grand thing for my poor deceased brother’s child.”

      “You do think so, don’t, you, my dear?” said Mrs Wilton, mentally extending a tendril, to cling to her husband, “because I – ”

      “Decidedly, decidedly, my dear,” said the Squire, quickly. “Thank you, Claud, my boy,” he continued. “I shall rely upon your strong common sense and judgment.”

      “All right, guv’nor. You give me my head. I’ll make it all right. I’ll win the stakes with hands down.”

      “I do trust you, my boy; but you must be gentle, and not too hasty.”

      “I know,” said the young man with a cunning look. “You leave me alone.”

      “Hah! That’s right, then,” said the Squire, drawing a deep breath as he smiled at his son; but all the same his eyes did not look the confidence expressed by his words.

      Chapter Seven

      “Why, there then, my precious, you are ever so much better. You look quite bright this morning.”

      “Do I, ’Liza?” said Kate sadly, as she walked to her bedroom window and stood gazing out at the sodden park and dripping trees.

      “Ever so much, my dear. Mr Leigh has done you a deal of good. I do wonder at finding such a clever gentlemanly Doctor down in an out-of-the-way place like this. You like him, don’t you?”

      The girl turned slowly and gazed at the speaker, her brow contracting a little at the inner corners of her straight eyebrows, which were drawn up, giving her face a troubled expression.

      “I hardly thing I do, nurse, dear; he is so stern and firm with me. He seems to talk to me as if it were all my fault that I have been so weak and ill; and he does not know – he does not know.”

      The tears rose to her eyes, ready to brim over as she spoke.

      “Ah! naughty little girl!” cried the woman, with mock anger; “crying again! I will not have it. Oh! my own pet,” she continued, changing her manner, as she passed her arm lovingly about the light waist and tenderly kissed her charge. “Please, please try. You are so much better. You must hold up.”

      “Yes, yes, nurse, I will,” cried the girl, making an effort, and kissing the homely face lovingly.

      “And what did I tell you? I’m always spoken of as your maid now – lady’s maid. It must not be nurse any longer.”

      “Ah!” said Kate, with the wistful look coming in her eyes again; “it seems as if all the happy old things are to be no more.”

      “No, no, my dear; you must not talk so. You not twenty, and giving up so to sadness! You must try and forget.”

      “Forget!” cried the girl, reproachfully.

      “No, no, not quite forget, dear; but try and bear your troubles like a woman now. Who could forget dear old master, and your poor dear mother? But would they like you to fret yourself into the grave with sorrow? Would they not say if they could come to you some night, ‘Never forget us, darling; but try and bear this grief as a true woman should’?”

      “Yes,” said the girl, thoughtfully, “and I will. But I don’t feel as if I could be happy here.”

      The maid sighed.

      “Uncle is very kind, and my aunt is very loving in her way, but I feel as if I want to be alone somewhere – of course with you. I have lain awake at night, longing to be back home.”

      “But that is impossible now, darling. Cook wrote to me the other day, and she told me that the house and furniture had been sold, and that the workmen were in, and – oh, what a stupid woman I am. Pretty way to try and comfort you!”

      “It’s nothing, ’Liza. It’s all gone now,” said