Shifting his body he rested his head on his hand, the light of the lamp bringing into clearer relief his fresh, healthy skin, finely modelled nose, and wide brow, the brown hair, clipped close to his head, still holding its glossy sheen.  For some seconds he did not speak:  the low song of the fire seemed to absorb him.  Now and then Pawson, who was watching him intently, heard him strangle a rebellious sigh, as if some old memory were troubling him.  His hand dropped and with a quick movement he faced his companion again.

“I have been away a long time, Mr. Pawson,” he said in a thoughtful tone.  “For three months—­four now—­I have had no letters from anybody.  It was my fault partly, but let that go.  I want you to answer some questions, and I want you to tell me the truth—­all the truth.  I haven’t any use for any other kind of man—­do you understand?  Is my mother alive?”

“Yes.”

“And Alec?  Is he all right?”

Pawson nodded.

“And my uncle?  Is he ruined?—­so badly ruined that he is suffering?  Tell me.”  There was a peculiar pathos in his tone—­so much so that Pawson, who had been standing, settled into a chair beside him that his answers might, if possible, be the more intimate and sympathetic.

“I’m afraid he is.  The only hope is the postponement in some way of the foreclosure of the mortgage on this house until times get better.  It wouldn’t bring its face value to-day.”

Harry caught his breath:  “My God!—­you don’t tell me so!  Poor Uncle George—­so fine and splendid—­so good to everybody, and he has come to this!  And about this mortgage—­who owns it?”

“Mr. Gorsuch, I understand, owns it now:  he bought it of the Tyson estate.”

“You mean John Gorsuch—­my father’s man of business?”

“Yes.”

“And was there nothing left?—­no money coming in from anywhere?”

Pawson shook his head:  “We collected all that some time ago—­it came from some old ground rents.”

“And how has he lived since?” He wanted to hear it all; he could help better if he knew how far down the ladder to begin.

“From hand to mouth, really.”  And then there followed his own and Gadgem’s efforts to keep the wolf from the door; the sale of the guns, saddles, and furniture; the wrench over the Castullux cup—­and what a godsend it was that Kirk got such a good price for it—­down to the parting with the last article that either or both of them could sell or pawn, including his four splendid setters.

As the sad story fell from the attorney’s sympathetic lips Harry would now and then cover his face with his hands in the effort to hide the tears.  He knew that the ruin was now complete.  He knew, too, that he had been the cause of it.  Then his thoughts reverted to the old regime and its comforts:  those which his uncle had shared with him so generously.

“And what has become of my uncle’s servants?” he asked—­“his cook, Aunt Jemima, and his body-servant, Todd?”