When the Squire got back to the castle, he found his daughter still
sitting in the drawing room.

"What, not gone to bed, Ida?" he said.

"No, father, I was going, and then I thought that I would wait to hear
what all this is about Janter and the Moat Farm. It is best to get it
over."

"Yes, yes, my dear--yes, but there is not much to tell you. Janter has
thrown up the farm after all, and George says that there is not
another tenant to be had for love or money. He tried one man, who said
that he would not have it at five shillings an acre, as prices are."

"That is bad enough in all conscience," said Ida, pushing at the
fireirons with her foot. "What is to be done?"

"What is to be done?" answered her father irritably. "How can I tell
you what is to be done? I suppose I must take the place in hand, that
is all."

"Yes, but that costs money, does it not?"

"Of course it does, it costs about four thousand pounds."

"Well," said Ida, looking up, "and where is all that sum to come from?
We have not got four thousand pounds in the world."

"Come from? Why I suppose that I must borrow it on the security of the