It soon transpired that Mr. James Little had died hopelessly insolvent, and the L1900 would really have been ingulfed.

Raby waited for this fact to sink into his sister’s mind; and then one day nature tugged so at his heart-strings, that he dashed off a warm letter beginning—­“My poor Edith, let bygones be bygones,” and inviting her and her boy to live with him at Raby Hall.

The heart-broken widow sent back a reply, in a handwriting scarcely recognizable as hers.  Instead of her usual precise and delicate hand, the letters were large, tremulous, and straggling, and the lines slanted downward.

“Write to me, speak to me, no more.  For pity’s sake let me forget there is a man in the world who is my brother and his murderer.

“Edith.”

Guy opened this letter with a hopeful face, and turned pale as ashes at the contents.

But his conscience was clear, and his spirit high.  “Unjust idiot!” he muttered, and locked her letter up in his desk.

Next morning he received a letter from Joseph Little, in a clear, stiff, perpendicular writing: 

“Sir,—­I find my sister-in-law wrote you, yesterday, a harsh letter, which I do not approve; and have told her as much.  Deceased’s affairs were irretrievable, and I blame no other man for his rash act, which may God forgive!  As to your kind and generous invitation, it deserves her gratitude; but Mrs. Little and myself have mingled our tears together over my poor brother’s grave, and now we do not care to part.  Before your esteemed favor came to hand, it had been settled she should leave this sad neighborhood and keep my house at Birmingham, where she will meet with due respect.  I am only a small tradesman; but I can pay my debts, and keep the pot boiling.  Will teach the boy some good trade, and make him a useful member of society, if I am spared.

“I am, sir, yours respectfully,

“Joseph little.”

“Sir,—­I beg to acknowledge, with thanks, your respectable letter.

“As all direct communication between Mrs. James Little and myself is at an end, oblige me with your address in Birmingham, that I may remit to you, half-yearly, as her agent, the small sum that has escaped bricks and mortar.

“When her son comes of age, she will probably forgive me for declining to defraud him of his patrimony.

“But it will be too late; for I shall never forgive her, alive or dead.

“I am, sir, your obedient servant,

“Guy Raby.”

When he had posted this letter he turned Edith’s picture to the wall, and wrote on the canvas—­

“Gone into trade.”

He sent for his attorney, made a new will, and bequeathed his land, houses, goods, and chattels, to Dissolute Dick and his heirs forever.

CHAPTER III.