“Certainly.”

“I advise that you leave it for a county hospital.”

“John!”

“Unconditionally and for ever, for,” John went on calmly and almost gently, “we are here a very long way from the county town, where the only hospital worth anything is situated.  This house has, on two stories, a corridor running completely through it, and is otherwise so built that it would require little alteration for such a purpose.  The revenue from the land would go a good way towards supporting it.  Therefore, as I said before—­” Then pausing, when he observed the effect of his words on Valentine, he hesitated, and instead of going on, said, “I am very sorry, my dear Valentine.”

“This is a shock to me,” said Valentine.  “It shows me so plainly that you would not have acted as I have done, if you had been in my place.”

As he seemed to wait for an answer, John said, with more decided gentleness, “I suppose it does;” and went on in a tone half apology, half persuasion, “But you will see your lawyer to-morrow, and, using all discretion, direct him as I propose.”

“Yes.  Nothing at all is to go to you then?”

“I should like to have this portrait of your father; and, Val, I wish to assure you most sincerely that I do not judge your conduct.  I have no opinion to give upon it.”

“I have a good right to tell you now, that I have for some months fully intended to give up the place.”

“Well, I am glad of that.”

“I hope to recover, and then to work, living abroad, the better to conceal matters.  I had quite decided, John; and yet what you have done is a shock to me.  I feel that I am judged by it.  I told you in the autumn that I meant to go away; I did.  But though I took the estate so easily, so almost inevitably, I could not get away from it, though I wished and tried.”

“But you can now.  If you want money, of course you will look to me to help you.  And so you could not manage to go?”

“No.  So long as I was well and in high spirits I never meant to go; but one night I got a great shock, and walking home afterwards by the mere, I felt the mist strike to my very marrow.  I have never been well since.  I had no heart to recover; but when I might have got away I was detained by that trumpery trial till I was so ill that I could not safely travel; but now, John, I am ready, and you cannot imagine how I long to be off, and, please God, begin a better life, and serve Him as my old father did.  I have three hundred pounds of honest money in hand, besides the two thousand your father gave me.  But, John, Emily is my favourite sister.”

“There!” said John, “I was afraid this would come.”

“If I should die young—­if she should find that I have left every shilling and every acre away from you and her, two of the people I love most, and thrown it into the hands of strangers, I could not bear to know that she would think meanly of my good sense and my affection after I am gone.”