“Do let me hear it,” she said, and Ernest, fired with the joy of composition, read his memorial verse.

“Criticise freely,” he said.  “I value your criticism and you understand poetry.  Not that this is a poem—­merely an epitaph; but it may easily be improved, I doubt not.”

He put on his glasses and read: 

“’Ended his mingled joy and strife,
  Here lies the dust of Peter Grim. 
  Though life was very kind to him,
  He proved not very kind to life.’”

Estelle applauded.

“Perfect,” she said.  “You must have it carved on his tombstone.”

“I think it meets the case.  I may have been prejudiced in my affection for him, owing to his affection for me.  He came to me at the age of five weeks, and his attitude to me from the first was devoted.”

“Cats have such cajoling ways.”

“He was not himself honest, yet, I think, saw the value of honesty in others.  Plain dealers are a temptation to rogues and none, as a rule, is a better judge of an honest man than a dishonest cat.”

“He wasn’t quite a rogue, was he?”

“He knew that I am respected, and he traded on my reputation.  His life has been spared on more than one occasion for my sake.”

“On the whole he was not a very model cat, I’m afraid,” said Estelle.

“Yes, that is just what he was:  a model—­cat.”

They went out to look at the grave again, and something hurried away through the bushes as they did so.

“Friends, or possibly enemies,” suggested Mr. Churchouse, but Estelle, sharper-eyed, saw Abel disappear.  She also noted that her bouquet of flowers had gone from Peter’s mound.

“Oh dear, he’s taken away my offering,” she said.

“What a hard-hearted boy!  Are there no means of winning him?”

They spoke of Abel and his mother.

“We all regretted her decision to stop.  It would have been better if she had gone away.”

“Raymond saw her some time ago.”

“So she told me; and so did he.  Misfortune seems to dog the situation, for I believe Sabina was half in a mind to take our advice until that meeting.  Then she changed.  Apparently she misunderstood him.”

“Ray was very troubled.  Somehow he made Sabina angry—­the last thing he meant to do.  He’s sorry now that he spoke.  She thought he was considering himself, and he really was thinking for Abel.”

“We must go on being patient.  Next year I shall urge her to let Abel be sent to a boarding-school.  That will be a great advantage every way.”

So they talked and meantime Abel’s sorrow ran into the channels of evil.  It may be that the presence of Estelle had determined this misfortune; but he was ripe for it and his feeling prompted him to let his misery run over, that others might drink of the cup.  He had long contemplated a definite deed and planned a stroke against Raymond Ironsyde; but he had postponed the act, partly from fear, partly