Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-12-29
ERBURY EVENING DEMOCRAT, SATURDAY. DECEMBER 2e 1sss

man, MT. Quest, continually hoverins, about here like bird of i'll omen, and 1 cannot stand it; and 1 tell you what it is, father, if you don't tell ne the whole truth at once, shall cry" and she looked as if she meant it.
 Now, the old squire was no more impervi- ous to a woman's tears than any other man. and of all Ida's moods, and they were many. he most greatly feared that rare one which took the form of tears. Besides, he loved his only daughter more dearly than anything in the world except one thtng-Honham Castle and could not bear to give her pain.
 ''Very well," he said, ''ot course if you wish to know about these things you have right to. have wished to spare you trouble, that Is all; but as you are so very imperious, the best thing that can do is to let you have your own way. Still, as 1t is rather late, if you have no objection, think that had better put it off till tomorrow
 'No, no. father. By tomorrow you will have changed your mind. Let us have 1t now. want to know how much we really owe and what We have got to live on."
 The old gentleman hummed and hawed a little, and after various indications of inn patience at last began:
 Well, as you know, our family has for some generations depended upon the land. Your dear mother brought small fortune with her, five or six thousand pounds, but that was, with the sanction of the trustees, expended upon improvements to the farms and ln paying off a small mortgage. We'll, for many years the land brought in about two thousand a year, but somehow we al- ways found it difficult to keep within that income. For instance, found it necessary to repair the gateway, and you have no idea of the expense in which those repairs landed me. Then your poor brother James cost a lNt of Y10O11 olr fh.a shooting kept up in such an extravagant way. Then he went into the army, and heaven only knows what he cost me there. Your poor brother very extravagant, my dear, and-well, perhaps was foolish-1 never could say him no. And that was not all Of 1t; for when tho poor boy died he left fifteen hundred pounds of debt behind him, and I had to find the money, if it was only for the honor of the family. Of course you know that we cut the entail when he came of age We'll, and then these dreadful times have come upon the top of it all; and, upon my word, at the present moment 1 don't know which way to turn," and he paused and drummed his fingers uneasily upon a book.
 "Yes, father, but you have not told me yet what it is that we owe.n
 Well, 1t Is difficult to answer that all in @ mlnute-perhapS twenty-five thousand on mortgage, and few floating debts"
 And what is the place worth9"
 Ut used to be worth between fifty and sixty thousand pounds. It is impossible to say what it would fetch now. Land is prac- tically drug in the market. But things will come round, my dear. It is only ques- tion of holding on."
 linen if you borrow fresh sum in order to take up this farm, you will owe about fbir-f vi thousand ,3c o,,I box &o pay per cent, as suppose you do, you will have to pay fifteen hundred a year in interest Now father, you said that in good times the land brought in two thousand a year, so, of course, it can't bring in so much HOW. There fore, by the time that you have paid the in- terest there will be nothing, or less than nothing, left for us to live on"
 Her father winced at the cruel and con- vincing logic.
 'No, no," he said, Tit is not so bad as that You jump to conclusions but really, if you do not mind, am very tired, and should like to go to bed"
 Father, what is the good of trying to shirk the thing just because it is disagree abler' she asked, earnestly. Do you sup pose that it is more pleasant to me to talk about it than it is for you2 1 know that you are not to blame about it. know that poor dear James was very thoughtless and extrav- agant, and that the times are crushing But to go on like this is only to so to ruin It would be better for us to live tn cottage on couple of hundred year than to try to keep our heads above water here, which we cannot do. Sooner or later these people Quest, or whoever they are-will want their money back; and then, if they can not have it they wilLsell the place over our heads. I believe that man Quest wants to get 1t him. self-that is what believe-and set up as country gentleman. Father, know 1t is a dreadful thing to say, but we ought to leave Honhaln.n
 Leave Honham!n said the old gentleman. jumping up in his agitation. What non sense you talk, Ida How can I leave Hon ham! It would kill me at my age How can l do itf And, besides, who is to look after the farms and all the businessf No, mo- we must hang on and trust to Providence. Things may come round, something may happen; one can never tell ia this world"
 If we do not leave H6nham. then Hon. ham will leave us,n answered bis daughter, with conviction II do not believe in chances. Chances always go the wrong way against those who are looking for them We shall be absolutely ruined, that is all"
 Well, perhaps you are right, perhaps you arc right, my dear," said the old gentleman, wearily. II only hope that my time may come first. l have lived here all my life, and know that l could not live anywhere else But Gods will be done And now, my dear, go to bed"
 She leaned down and kissed him, and as she did so saw that his eyes were filled with tears. Not trusting herself to speak, for she felt for him too deeply to do so, she turned away and went, leaving the old man sitting there with his gray head bowed upon his breast
 CHAPTER VI.
 LAWYER QUEST.
 The day fOlloMinp thu con yersation dc