Accordingly he went his way among the people, and if he had any sorrowful reason for being glad of what rendered it his duty to pick up all the information he could, this did not make him less energetic in fighting the farmers.

Very little, however, could be done with them; an obvious hole in a roof they would repair, a rotting door they would replace, but that was all, and he felt strongly the impolicy of taking money out of the estate to do all the whitewashing, plastering, carpenters’ work, and painting that were desirable; besides which, he was sure the water was not pure that the people drank, and that they ought to have another well.

When Mrs. Melcombe heard his report of it all, and when he acknowledged that he could do hardly anything with the farmers, she wished she had not asked his advice, particularly as he chose to bring certain religious remarks into it.  He was indeed a most inconveniently religious man; his religion was of a very expensive kind, and was all mixed up with his philanthropy, as if one could not be religious at all without loving those whom God loved and as if one could not love them without serving them to the best of one’s power.

She listened with dismay.  If it was useless to expect much of the farmers, and impolitic to take much out of the estate, what was the use of talking?  But Mr. Augustus Mortimer did talk for several minutes; first he remarked on the expressed wish of his mother that all needful repairs should be attended to, then he said his brother began to feel the infirmities of age, and also was a poor man; then he made Mrs. Melcombe wince by observing that the condition of the tenements was perfectly disgraceful, and next he went on to say that, being old himself, he did not wish to waste any time, for he should have but little, and therefore as he was rich he was content to do what was wanted himself.

“This house,” he continued, “is a great deal too large for the small income your son will have.  Very large sums have been spent, as the will directed, in putting it into perfect repair.  I am not surprised, therefore, that you have felt perplexed, but now, if you have no objection, I will have estimates made at once.”

Excessively surprised, a little humiliated, but yet, on the whole, conscious that such an offer relieved her of a great responsibility, Mrs. Peter Melcombe hesitated a moment, then said in a low voice—­

“Thank you, Mr. Mortimer, but you will give me a little time to think of this.”

“Certainly,” he answered, with all composure, “till to-morrow morning;” then he went on as if that matter was quite settled, and enough had been said about it.  “There is one person whom I should much like to point out to you as an object for your charity—­the old shepherd’s wife who is bedridden.  If you were inclined to provide some one to look after her——­”

“Oh, Becky Maddison,” interrupted Mrs. Melcombe; “the dear grandmother did not approve of that woman.  She used to annoy her by telling an absurd ghost story.”