There was also an annuity charge for an old servant, passed on to us. And finally Ken was reminded that the death duties would be heavy. My first enthusiasm of greed was somewhat quenched.

"But, even so, there will be enough to make things better for us," I said more soberly. "Very—very much better. You can have the change you need so much—Tom's schooling can go on. And--"

"Yes, it will do all that, and more. It will be a change to go to Edinburgh. That is the first thing we must do, Maggie; you and I."

Two days later we set out on our journey. Tom was left at school, as he was in the middle of a term; and though part of my rejoicing was that his lessons need not be disturbed by our failure to pay, I was irrational enough to regret that he could not be with us. He would have enjoyed the adventure of new scenes and new hopes; and I set out with the thought of my one boy very much in mind— which may have had its share in attuning me to what followed.

We had not exhausted our wonderment during those days of hasty preparation. Ken remarked more than once:

"I'd give a good deal to know what made Nevill think of me at the last. Since he had that row with my dear old dad, we haven't been on speaking terms. And it must be a dozen years since last we met. If I am right in remembering, it was just before Tom was born."

"I never saw him," I chimed in. We were now in the great express on our way to Edinburgh—third-class travellers in spite of our accession of fortune. "Tell me what he was like."

"Oh—Nevill was a fellow with a crook in him, and looked it all over. He was always queer—about religion, as well as in other matters. Didn't hold with any of the recognised forms, and used to preach as a freelance when he could get anybody to listen. I've no doubt he meant well. I believe he built a chapel for himself."

"Is that why Mirk Muir Grange is called the Chapel House?"

"I daresay it is. I'm glad he did not saddle his bequest with the provision I should do parson. There are disadvantages enough without that."

We were to hear more of the disadvantages from Mr. Bayliss in Edinburgh. He was a stiff, dry sort of man, but he became slightly more genial on finding Ken willing to take his advice about compounding the action, and selling a portion of the property to meet charges and duty, instead of putting a mortgage on the farms. He thought Ken would be wise to keep on a certain McGregor as his factor, as he had served Nevill Nugent for half a lifetime, and knew the place and the people. We might expect to get something like £300 in the course of the first year, but it was not likely to be more, unless a tenant could be found for the Chapel House: he called it that, I noticed, rather than the Grange. But we had better not be sanguine, as the house was not an easy one to let.

Jen asked why—a question on the tip of my tongue too, though it got no further.

Mr. Bayliss did not seem very ready with his answer. It was a good deal out of the way, he said at last. "Drains bad?" Ken suggested, but was answered no; all the sanitary arrangements had been put in complete order for the last tenant.