Stafford looked up with a sudden energy. "No," he said; "not a moment longer than is necessary. I shall return to my old rooms."

"There is no occasion," began Mr. Chaffinch. "I need scarcely say that the bank will honour your lordship's cheques for any amount."

"Please get rid of this house as soon as possible," said Stafford. He rose as he spoke. "You will remain to lunch?"

They murmured a negative, and Stafford begging to be excused, left the room, signing to Howard to follow him. He did not mean it, but his manner, in the abstraction of his grief was as lordly as if he had inherited an earldom of five centuries. When they had got back to the little darkened room in which he had sat since his father's death, Stafford turned to Howard:

"At what time and place is this meeting to-morrow, Howard?" he asked.

"At Gloucester House, Broad Street. Four."

Stafford nodded, and was lost in thought for a moment or two, then he said:

"Howard, will you send my horses to Tattersall's? And the yacht to the agents, for sale? There is nothing else, I think. I used to have some diamond studs and rings, but I've lost them. I was always careless.

Great Heaven! When I think of the money I have spent, money that I would give my life for now!"

"But, my dear old chap, a hundred thousand pounds! Four thousand a year--it's not too much for a man in your position, but there's no need to sell your horses."

Stafford laid his hand on Howard's shoulder and looked into his eyes and laughed strangely; then his hands dropped and he turned away with a sigh.

"Leave me now, Howard," he said, "I want to think--to think."

He sank into a chair, when Howard had gone, and tried to think of his future; but it was only the past that rose to his mind; and it was not altogether of his father that he thought, but of--Ida. In his sacrifice of himself, he had sacrificed her. And Fate had punished him for his forced treachery. He sat with his head in his hands, for hours, recalling those eyes, and yes, kissed her sweet lips. G.o.d, what a bankrupt he was! His father, his sweetheart, his wealth--all had been taken from him.

He did not think of Maude.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

At noon the following day there was a large meeting at Gloucester House. There gathered the Beltons, Baron Wirsch, Griffenberg, and the t.i.tled and unt.i.tled folk who had been concerned in Sir Stephen Orme's big scheme. And they were all gloomy and in a bad temper; for all of them had lost money and some of them were well-nigh ruined by the collapse of the company which was to have made their fortunes. They came before noon, the appointed hour, and talked, sometimes in undertones, but not seldom in loud and complaining voices. By one and all the dead man was blamed for the ruin in which he had involved them.

They had left the whole thing in his hands: he ought to have foreseen, ought to have taken proper precautions. They had been--well, if not duped and deceived, the victims of his criminal sanguineness and carelessness.

Griffenberg, being one of the heaviest losers, was elected to the chair, but beyond making a statement which told them nothing, he could do little. When he informed them that Lord Highcliffe had died practically insolvent, a murmur arose, a deep guttural murmur which was something between a hiss and a groan, and it was while this unpleasant sound was filling the room that Stafford entered.

The groan, if groan it can be called, died away, and they all turned and looked at his pale and careworn face. The tall figure in its deep mourning dress silenced them for the moment.

Griffenberg signed Stafford to a seat beside him.

"I am sure we can tell Lord Highcliffe that we are glad to see him, that we are much obliged for his attendance."

Some few said "Hear! hear!" but the rest were silent and watchful. As Griffenberg spoke the door opened again and Ralph Falconer entered. He glanced at Stafford and knit his brows, but dropped heavily into a chair, and sat with stony face and half-lowered lids. He had scarcely taken his seat when Howard entered in his quiet fashion, and he went and stood just behind Stafford.

"I was just telling the meeting, Lord Highcliffe, that I was afraid we were in a bad way." said Griffenberg. "We all relied so completely on Sir Stephen--I beg pardon, Lord Highcliffe, your father--that we feel ourselves helpless now--er--left in the lurch. The company is in great peril; there has already been heavy loss, and we fear that our property will be swallowed up--"

"Ask him what Sir Stephen did with all his money!" cried an excited shareholder.

"Order!" said Mr. Griffenberg. "Lord Highcliffe is not here to answer questions."

"Then what's he here for?" retorted another man whose loss amounted to a few hundreds, but who was more excited and venomous than those who had many thousands at stake. "He's all right. He's a lord--a pretty lord!--and I'm told the gentleman he's next to is his future father-in-law, and is rolling in money--"

"Order! order!" called Griffenberg.

But the man declined to be silenced.

"Oh, it's all very well to call 'Order!' But I've a question to ask. I want to know whether it's true that Sir Stephen--blow 'Lord Highcliffe,' Sir Stephen's good enough for me!--made over a hundred thousand pounds to his son, the young gentleman sitting there. Some of us is ruined by this company, and we don't see why we should be sheared while Lord Highcliffe gets off with a cool hundred thousand. I ask the question and I wait for an answer."

Stafford rose, his pale, handsome face looking almost white above his black frock-coat and black tie.

"Sit down! Don't answer him," said Griffenberg.

"It is quite true," he said. "The money--a hundred thousand pounds--was given to me. It was given to me when my father"--his voice broke for a moment--"was in a position to give it, was solvent--"

"I said so, didn't I?" yelled the man who had put the question.

"Order! order!" said Griffenberg.

"And I am informed that the gift was legal, that it cannot be touched--"

"Of course it can't! Trust Sir Stephen to look after his own!" wailed the man.

"But I yield it, give it up," said Stafford in the same level voice.

Falconer started from his seat and laid a hand on Stafford's arm.

"Don't be a fool!", he whispered in his thick voice.

But Stafford did not heed him.

"I give it up, relinquish it," he said in the same low, clear tones.

"When my father"--his voice again shook for a moment, but he mastered his emotion--"made the deed, he thought himself a rich man. If he were alive to-day"--there was a pause, and the meeting hung on his words--"he would entirely agree with what I am doing. I give up the deed of gift, I relinquish it. My lawyers have made me the proper doc.u.ment, and I now give it to your chairman. It is all I possess; if I had more, I would give it to you. My father was an honourable man, if he were here now--"

He placed the deed before Griffenberg, and sank into his seat.

There was a moment of intense silence, then a cheer arose, led by the very man who had put the question.

Griffenberg sprang to his feet.

"I hope you are satisfied, gentlemen," he said, with as much emotion as a city man can permit himself. "Lord Highcliffe has behaved like a gentleman, like a n.o.bleman. I can a.s.sure you that his sacrifice is a real one. The deed of gift which he has surrendered is a perfectly sound one, and could not have been touched. All honour to him for his surrender, for his generosity."

Another cheer arose--again it was started by the very man who had attacked poor Stafford, and before it had ceased to ring through the crowded room, Stafford had made his way out.

Mr. Falconer caught him by the arm as he was going down the stairs.

"Do you know what you have done?" he demanded in his dry, harsh voice.

"You have made yourself a pauper."