George Ryle by no means liked the uncertainty in which he was kept as to the Upland Farm. Had Mr. Chattaway been any other than Mr. Chattaway, had he been a straightforward man, George would have said, "Give me an answer, Yes or No." In point of fact, he did say so; but was unable to get a reply from him, one way or the other. Mr. Chattaway was pretty liberal in his sneers as to one with no means of his own taking so extensive a farm as the Upland; but he did not positively say, "I will not lease it to you." George bore the sneers with equanimity. He possessed that very desirable gift, a sweet temper; and he was, and could not help feeling that he was, so really superior to Mr. Chattaway, that he could afford that gentleman's evil tongue some latitude.

But the time was going on; it was necessary that a decision should be arrived at; and one morning George went up again to the Hold, determined to receive a final answer. As he was entering the steward's room, he met Ford, the Blackstone clerk, coming out of it.

"Is Mr. Chattaway in there?" asked George.

"Yes," replied Ford. "But if you want any business out of him this morning, you won't get it. I have tramped all the way up here about a hurried matter and have had my walk for my pains. Chattaway won't do anything or say anything; doesn't seem capable; says he shall be at Blackstone by-and-by. And that's all I've got to go back with."

"Why won't he?"

"Goodness knows. He seems to have had a shock or fright: was staring at a letter when I went in, and I left him staring at it when I came out, his wits evidently wool-gathering. Good morning, Mr. Ryle."

The young man went his way, and George entered the room. Mr. Chattaway was seated at his desk; an open letter before him, as Ford had said. It was one that had been delivered by that morning's post, and it had brought the sweat of dismay upon his brow. He looked at George angrily.

"Who's this again? Am I never to be at peace? What do you want?"

"Mr. Chattaway, I want an answer. If you will not let me the Upland Farm——"

"I will give you no answer this morning. I am otherwise occupied, and cannot be bothered with business."

"Will you give me an answer—at all?"

"Yes, to-morrow. Come then."

George saw that something had indeed put Mr. Chattaway out; he appeared incapable of business, as Ford had intimated, and it would be policy, perhaps, to let the matter rest until to-morrow. But a resolution came into George's mind to do at once what he had sometimes thought of doing—make a friend, if possible, of Miss Diana Trevlyn. He went about the house until he found her, for he was almost as much at home there as poor Rupert had been. Miss Diana happened to be alone in the breakfast-room, looking over what appeared to be bills, but she laid them aside at his entrance, and—it was a most unusual thing—condescended to ask after the health of her sister, Mrs. Ryle.

"Miss Diana, I want you to be my friend," he said, in the winning manner that made George Ryle liked by everyone, as he drew a chair near to her. "Will you whisper a word for me into Mr. Chattaway's ear?"

"About the Upland Farm?"

"Yes. I cannot get an answer from him. He has promised me one to-morrow morning, but I do not rely upon it. I must be at some certainty. I have my eye on another farm if I cannot get Mr. Chattaway's; but it is at some distance, and I shall not like it half as well. Whilst he keeps me shilly-shallying over this one, I may lose both. There's an old proverb, you know, about two stools."

"Was that a joke the other day, the hint you gave about marrying?" inquired Miss Diana.

"It was sober earnest. If I can get the Upland Farm, I shall, I hope, take my wife home to it almost as soon as I am installed there myself."

"Is she a good manager, a practical woman?"

George smiled. "No. She is a lady."

"I thought so," was the remark of Miss Diana, delivered in very knowing tones. "I can tell you and your wife, George, that it will be uphill work for both of you."

"For a time; I know that. But, Miss Diana, ease, when it comes, will be all the more enjoyable for having been worked for. I often think the prosperity of those who have honestly earned it must be far sweeter than the monotonous abundance of those who are born rich."

"True. The worst is, that sometimes the best years of life are over before prosperity comes."

"But those years have had their pleasure, in working on for it. I question whether actual prosperity ever brings the pleasure we enjoy in anticipation. If we had no end to work for, we should not be happy. Will you say a word for me, Miss Diana?"

"First of all, tell me the name of the lady. I suppose you have no objection—you may trust me."

George's lips parted with a smile, and a faint flush stole over his features. "I shall have to tell you before I win her, if only to obtain your consent to taking her from the Hold."

"My consent! I have nothing to do with it. You must get that from Mr. and Madam Chattaway."

"If I have yours, I am not sure that I should care to ask—his."

"Of whom do you speak?" she rejoined, looking puzzled.

"Of Maude Trevlyn."

Miss Diana rose from her chair, and stared at him in astonishment. "Maude Trevlyn!" she repeated. "Since when have you thought of Maude Trevlyn?"

"Since I thought of any one—thought at all, I was going to say. I loved Maude—yes, loved her, Miss Diana—when she was only a child."

"And you have not thought of anyone else?"

"Never. I have loved Maude, and I have been content to wait for her. But that I was so trammelled with the farm at home, keeping it for Mrs. Ryle and Treve, I might have spoken before."

Maude Trevlyn was evidently not the lady upon whom Miss Diana's suspicions had fallen, and she seemed unable to recover from her surprise or realise the fact. "Have you never given cause to another to—to—suspect any admiration on your part?" she resumed, breaking the silence.

"Believe me, I never have. On the contrary," glancing at Miss Diana with peculiar significance for a moment, his tone most impressive, "I have cautiously abstained from doing so."

"Ah, I see." And Miss Trevlyn's tone was not less significant than his.

"Will you give her to me?" he pleaded, in his softest and most persuasive voice.

"I don't know, George, there may be trouble over this."

"Do you mean with Mr. Chattaway?"

"I mean——No matter what I mean. I think there will be trouble over it."

"There need be none if you will sanction it. But that you might misconstrue me, I would urge you to give her to me for Maude's own sake. This escapade of poor Rupert's has rendered Mr. Chattaway's roof an undesirable one for her."

"Maude is a Trevlyn, and must marry a gentleman," spoke Miss Diana.

"I am one," said George quietly. "Forgive me if I remind you that my ancestors are equal to those of the Trevlyns. In the days gone by——"

"You need not enter upon it," was the interruption. "I do not forget it. But gentle descent is not all that is necessary. Maude will have money, and it is only right that she should marry one who possesses it in an equal degree."

"Maude will not have a shilling," cried George, impulsively.

"Indeed! Who told you so?"

George laughed. "It is what I have always supposed. Where is her money to come from?"

"She will have a great deal of money," persisted Miss Diana. "The half of my fortune, at least, will be Maude's. The other half I intended for Rupert. Did you suppose the last of the Trevlyns, Maude and Rupert, would be turned penniless into the world?"

So! It had been Miss Diana's purpose to bequeath them money! Yes; loving power though she did; acquiescing in the act of usurping Trevlyn Hold as she had, she intended to make it up in some degree to the children. Human nature is full of contradictions. "Has Maude learnt to care for you?" she suddenly asked. "You hesitate!"

"If I hesitate it is not because I have no answer to give, but whether it would be quite fair to Maude to give it. The truth may be best, however; she has learnt to care for me. Perhaps you will answer me a question—have you any objection to me personally?"

"George Ryle, had I objected to you personally, I should have ordered you out of the room the instant you mentioned Maude's name. Were your position a better one, I would give you Maude to-morrow—so far as my giving could avail. But to enter the Upland Farm upon borrowed money?—no; I do not think that will do for Maude Trevlyn."

"It would be a better position for her than the one she now holds, as Mr. Chattaway's governess," replied George, boldly. "A better, and a far happier."

"Nonsense. Maude Trevlyn's position at Trevlyn Hold is not to be looked upon as that of governess, but as a daughter of the house. It was well that both she and Rupert should have some occupation."

"And on the other score?" resumed George. "May I dare to say the truth to you, that in quitting the Hold for the home I shall make for her, she will be leaving misery for happiness?"

Miss Diana rose. "That is enough for the present," said she. "It has come upon me with surprise, and I must give it some hours' consideration before I can even realise it. With regard to the Upland Farm, I will ask Mr. Chattaway to accord you preference if he can do so; the two matters are quite distinct and apart one from the other. I think you might prosper at the Upland Farm, and be a good tenant; but I decline—and this you must distinctly understand—to give you any hope now with regard to Maude."

George held out his hand with his sunny smile. "I will wait until you have considered it, Miss Diana."

She took her way at once to Mrs. Chattaway's room. Happening, as she passed the corridor window, to glance to the front of the house, she saw George Ryle cross the lawn. At the same moment, Octave Chattaway ran after him, evidently calling to him.

He stopped and turned. He could do no less. And Octave stood with him, laughing and talking rather more freely than she might have done, had she been aware of what had just taken place. Miss Diana drew in her severe lips, changed her course, and sailed back to the hall-door. Octave was coming in then.

"Manners have changed since I was a girl," remarked Miss Diana. "It would scarcely have been deemed seemly then for a young lady to run after a gentleman. I do not like it, Octave."

"Manners do change," returned Miss Chattaway, in tones she made as slighting as she dared. "It was only George Ryle, Aunt Diana."

"Do you know where Maude is?"

"No; I know nothing about her. I think if you gave Maude a word of reprimand instead of giving one to me, it might not be amiss, Aunt Diana. Since Rupert turned runagate—or renegade might be a better word—Maude has shamefully neglected her duties with Emily and Edith. She passes her time in the clouds and lets them run wild."

"Had Rupert been your brother you might have done the same," curtly rejoined Miss Diana. "A shock like that cannot be lived down in a day. Allow me to give you a hint, Octave; should you lose Maude for the children, you will not so efficiently replace her."

"We are not likely to lose her," said Octave, opening her eyes.

"I don't know that. It is possible that we shall. George Ryle wants her."

"Wants her for what?" asked Octave, staring very much.

"He can want her but for one thing—to be his wife. It seems he has loved her for years."

She quitted Octave as she said this, on her way up again to Mrs. Chattaway's room; never halting, never looking back at the still, white face, that seemed to be turning into stone as it was strained after her.

In Mrs. Chattaway's sitting-room she found that lady and Maude. She entered suddenly and hastily, and had Miss Diana been of a suspicious nature it might have arisen then. In their close contact, their start of surprise, the expression of their haggard countenances, there was surely evidence of some unhappy secret. Miss Diana was closely followed by Mr. Chattaway.

"Did you not hear me call?" he inquired of his sister-in-law.

"No," she replied. "I only heard you on the stairs behind me. What is it?"

"Read that," said Mr. Chattaway.

He tossed an open letter to her. It was the one which had so put him out, rendering him incapable of attending to business. After digesting it alone in the best manner he could, he had now come to submit it to the keen and calm inspection of Miss Trevlyn.

"Oh," said she carelessly, as she looked at the writing, "another letter from Connell and Connell."

"Read it," repeated Mr. Chattaway, in low tones. He was too completely shaken to be anything but subdued.

Miss Diana proceeded to do so. It was a letter shorter, if anything, than the previous one, but even more decided. It simply said that Mr. Rupert Trevlyn had written to inform them of his intention of taking immediate possession of Trevlyn Hold, and had requested them to acquaint Mr. Chattaway with the same. Miss Diana read it to herself, and then aloud for the general benefit.

"It is the most infamous thing that has ever come under my notice," said Mr. Chattaway. "What right have those Connells to address me in this strain? If Rupert Trevlyn passes his time inventing such folly, is it the work of a respectable firm to perpetuate the jokes on me?"

Mrs. Chattaway and Maude gazed at each other, perfectly confounded. It was next to impossible that Rupert could have thus written to Connell and Connell. If they had only dared defend him! "Why suffer it to put you out, James?" Mrs. Chattaway ventured to say. "Rupert cannot be writing such letters; he cannot be thinking of attempting to take possession here; the bare idea is absurd: treat it as such."

"But these communications from Connell and Connell are not the less disgraceful," was the reply. "I'd as soon be annoyed with anonymous letters."

Miss Diana Trevlyn had not spoken. The affair, to her keen mind, began to wear a strange appearance. She looked up from the letter at Mr. Chattaway. "Were Connell and Connell not so respectable, I should say they have lent themselves to a sorry joke for the purpose of the worst sort of annoyance: being what they are, that view falls to the ground. There is only one possible solution to it: but——"

"And what's that?" eagerly interrupted Mr. Chattaway.

"That Rupert is amusing himself, and has contrived to impose upon Connell and Connell——"

"He never has," broke in Mrs. Chattaway. "I mean," she more calmly added, "that Connell and Connell could not be imposed upon by any foolish claim put forth by a boy like Rupert."

"I wish you would hear me out," was the composed rejoinder of Miss Diana. "It is what I was about to say. Had Connell and Connell been different men, they might be so imposed upon; but I do not think they, or any firm of similar standing, would presume to write such letters to the master of Trevlyn Hold, unless they had substantial grounds for doing so."

"Then what can they mean?" cried Mr. Chattaway, wiping his hot face.

Ay, what could they mean? It was indeed a puzzle, and the matter began to assume a serious form. What had been the vain boastings of Mr. Daw, compared with this? Cris Chattaway, when he reached home, and this second letter was shown to him, was loudly indignant, but all the indignation Mr. Chattaway had been prone to indulge in seemed to have gone out of him. Mr. Flood wrote to Connell and Connell to request an explanation, and received a courteous and immediate reply. But it contained no further information than the letters themselves—or than even Mr. Peterby had elicited when he wrote up, on his own part, privately to Mr. Ray: nothing but that Mr. Rupert Trevlyn was about to take possession of his own again, and occupy Trevlyn Hold.