“My father’s debts—­will they not be paid, will there not be sufficient?” he asked, in a dry voice.

Mr. Falconer pursed his lips and shook his head.

“I’m afraid not; in fact, I can say definitely that they will not,” he replied, in a hard, uncompromising way.

Stafford looked round the large, superbly furnished room, with its book-cases of ebony and wedgewood, its costly pictures and bronzes, and recalled the Villa with its luxury and splendour, and the vast sums which Sir Stephen had spent during the last few months.  It seemed difficult to realise that the wealth was all gone.

“What is to be done?” he asked, in a low voice.

Mr. Falconer was silent for a moment, as he regarded the handsome face, which seemed to have lost its aspect of youth and taken on the lines and hollows of age.

“I do not know.  It is not for me to say.  There will be a meeting of the directors of the South African Company and others to-morrow, and some decision will be come to, I have no doubt.”

“And I—­I can do nothing?” said Stafford, huskily.  “I am penniless, I suppose?”

Both Murray and Mr. Chaffinch raised their heads with an air of surprise.

“Penniless” echoed Mr. Chaffinch.  “Certainly not, my lord!  Surely you know?”

Stafford regarded him gravely; it seemed as if he himself were too crushed by his grief for surprise.

“Know?” he said.  “What is in I should know?  I do not understand.”  Mr. Falconer coughed.

“We thought you were aware of the existence of the deed; that your father had informed you, Lord Highcliffe.”

“What deed?” asked Stafford, dully.  “I am sorry to appear so dense; but I have not the least idea of your meaning.  As you say, Mr. Falconer, I know nothing of business.”

“It is evident that your father did not tell you that he executed a deed of gift in your favour, a gift of one hundred thousand pounds,” said Mr. Falconer.

“Which deed, being made when he was quite solvent, cannot be upset.  The money was placed in trust, and is quite beyond the reach of the creditors,” said Mr. Chaffinch.  “We thought you were aware of this, my lord.”

Stafford shook his head.  He evinced no sign of relief, the colour did not rise to his face, and his eyes were still fixed on Falconer.

“It was a very wise provision,” said Mr. Chaffinch, approvingly.  “And distinctly one I should have recommended; but Sir Stephen—­Lord Highcliffe—­did it of his own accord.  He was a far-seeing man, and he was aware that fortune might fail him, that it was necessary he should place you, my lord, out of danger.  I can well believe that, even at that time, he saw the peerage coming, and felt that you should be made secure, that you should have a sufficient income to support the title.  It is not a tenth, a twentieth of the sum you would have inherited, but for this unfortunate accident of the native rising, and the collapse of the South African Company.”