And now the thing was coming to an end. Unless in this way or in that
he could save it, what remained of the old place, for the outlying lands
had long since been sold, must go to the hammer and become the property
of some pushing and successful person who desired to found a family, and
perhaps in days to be would claim these very pictures that hung upon the
walls as those of his own ancestors, declaring that he had brought in
the estate because he was a relative of the ancient and ruined race.

Well, it was the way of the world, and perhaps it must be so, but the
thought of it made Alan Vernon sad. If he could have continued that
business, it might have been otherwise. By this hour his late partners,
Sir Robert Aylward and Mr. Champers-Haswell, were doubtless sitting in
their granite office in the City, probably in consultation with Lord
Specton, who had taken his place upon the Board of the great Company
which was being subscribed that day. No doubt applications for shares
were pouring in by the early posts and by telegram, and from time to
time Mr. Jeffreys respectfully reported their number and amount, while
Sir Robert looked unconcerned and Mr. Haswell rubbed his hands and
whistled cheerfully. Almost he could envy them, these men who were
realizing great fortunes amidst the bustle and excitement of that fierce
financial life, whilst he stood penniless and stared at the trees and
the ewes which wandered among them with their lambs, he who, after all
his work, was but a failure. With a sigh he turned away to fetch his
cap and go out walking--there was a tenant whom he must see, a shifty,
new-fangled kind of man who was always clamouring for fresh buildings
and reductions in his rent. How was he to pay for more buildings? He
must put him off, or let him go.

Just then a sharp sound caught his ear, that of an electric bell. It
came from the telephone which, since he had been a member of a City