"To sell, sir? Yes; a good deal. The market's been very bad lately.

Is your master, Mr Ross, in?"

"No, he ain't," said the boy, sharply. "Don't want any. Take your bag somewhere else. We gets ours at the stationer's."

The old man stood aghast, for the boy gave his bag a kick and shut the door to sharply, without another word.

"He's a quick, sharp boy," said the old man; "very impudent though. A regular London boy; and Luke's out. Well, well, well, I've come a long way to see him, and I can wait," and without another word, the old man seated himself patiently at the foot of the next flight of stairs, placing his bag beside him, and his green umbrella across his knees.

PART THREE, CHAPTER TWO.

IN TROUBLE.

"Sage? What--down-stairs?" cried Mrs Portlock. "Don't say they're in trouble again, Joseph."

"Why not?" said the Churchwarden, slowly. "Come along down, and make the poor girl some warm tea. She's been travelling all night, and has brought the two little ones with her."

"I'll be down directly," said Mrs Portlock; "but what is the matter?"

"Trouble, trouble, trouble," said the Churchwarden, slowly. "Hang the laws. I'd give something if I could take her away from him, and keep her at home, children and all. It would come a deal cheaper, old lady."

"Oh, but you are too hard on him, Joseph, indeed you are. Cyril is very, very fond of her and his children."

"Bah! I never knew him fond of anything but himself, and what money he could get."

"There, if you are in that kind of temper, Joseph, it is of no use for me to speak to you. I'll be down directly; but won't Sage come up?"

"No, I've made her lie down on the sofa by the fire. She's worn out, and the little ones are fast asleep. I've told the girls to hurry on the breakfast."

"But how foolish of her to travel in the night. How did they come from the station?"

"A man brought them in a cart. Poor things! they are half perished."

"Dear, dear, dear, dear me," said Mrs Portlock, hastily dressing.

"What troubles there are in this world."

"Yes, if people make 'em."

"But what is wrong with Cyril?"

"Oh, nothing particular," said the Churchwarden, bitterly, "only he's in trouble again."

"In trouble?"

"Yes, in trouble. Don't shout about it and frighten the poor girl more."

"But what does it mean?"

"Oh, some trouble over old Walker's affairs. Sage says she is sure he is innocent. Heaven knows I hope he is."

"But what made her come down?"

"What made her come down, old lady? Why, what was the poor wench to do, a woman with a couple of little children? There, it seems a sin to say so, but it's a blessing the others died."

"Oh, for shame, Joseph!" cried Mrs Portlock, whose trembling old fingers were in great trouble over various strings.

"I don't care," said the Churchwarden, whose hair was white now, but who looked as st.u.r.dy and well as ever; "I wish she had never seen the scoundrel."

"Joseph, if you talk like that, you'll break the poor girl's heart."

"I'm not going to talk to her like that, but I suppose I may to you.

Here have they been married close upon twelve years, and what have they been but twelve years of misery?"

"There has been a deal of trouble certainly," sighed Mrs Portlock.

"What time is it now?"

"Half-past six. Make haste. He was held to be all that was steady and right at that Government appointment, and six months after his marriage they kicked him out."

"But Sage always said, dear, that they behaved very ill to Cyril."

"Of course she did, and she believed it, poor la.s.s; but if half that I heard of him was true, I'd have kicked him out at the end of three months instead of six."

"It's very, very shocking," sighed Mrs Portlock, getting something in a knot.

"Then he gets his mother's money; poor soul, she'd have sold herself for that boy."

"Yes; she's very, very fond of him."

"There was enough for them to have lived in comfort to the end of their days, if he hadn't bet and squandered the property all away."

"I'm afraid he was a little reckless," sighed Mrs Portlock.

"Reckless? He was mad. Then, when it was gone, it was money, money, money: never a month pa.s.sing but there was a letter from poor Sage, begging for money."

"But she couldn't help it, dear."

"Think I don't know that," cried the Churchwarden, striding to and fro.

"He forced her to write, of course; and we sent it, but not for him. If it hadn't been for her and the bairns, not a penny of my hard savings would he ever have seen."

"But he has been better lately."

"Better? Ha, ha, ha! So it seems. Wait till we know all. Five thousand pounds gone in that wine merchant's business."

"Well, but, Joseph, dear, you would have left it to them after we were dead. Wasn't it better to give it to them at once?"

"Yes, if it was for their good," said the Churchwarden. "What is it?

Four years ago, and Mallow said, 'No,'--I remember his words as well as if it were only yesterday--'No,' he said, 'I think we've done enough.

My wife's money has all gone to him, and I will not impoverish myself further. I think it is your turn, now.'"