“Who would wish you to?” asked Ernest Churchouse.  “But a brother is a brother,” he continued, “and since there is nothing definite about Raymond in the will, you should, I think, argue like this.  You should say to yourself, ’my father was disappointed with my brother and did not know what to do about him; but, having a high opinion of me and my good sense and honesty, he left my brother to my care.  He regarded me, in fact, as my brother’s keeper, and hoped that I would help Raymond to justify his existence.’  Don’t you feel like that?”

“I feel that my father was very long-suffering with Raymond, and his will tells me that he had a great deal more to put up with from Raymond than anybody ever knew, except my brother himself.”

“You needn’t take up the cudgels for your father, Dan,” interposed Miss Ironsyde.  “Be sure that your dear father, from the peace which now he enjoys, would not like to see you make his quarrel with Raymond your quarrel.  I’m not extenuating Raymond’s selfish and unthinking conduct as a son.  His own conscience will exact the payment for wrong done beyond repair.  He’ll come to that some day.  He won’t escape it.  He’s not built to escape it.  But he’s your brother, not your son; and you must ask yourself, whether as a brother, you’ve fairly got any quarrel with him.”

Daniel considered a moment, then he spoke.

“I have not,” he said—­“except the general quarrel that he’s a waster and not justifying his existence.  We have had practically nothing to do with each other since we left school.”

“Well,” declared Mr. Churchouse, “now you must have something to do with each other.  It is an admirable thought of your Aunt Jenny’s that your father has honoured your judgment by leaving the destiny of Raymond more or less in your hands.”

“I didn’t say that; you said it,” interrupted the lady.  “Raymond’s destiny is in his own hands.  But I do feel, of course, that Daniel can’t ignore him.  The moment has come when a strong effort must be made to turn Raymond into a useful member of society.”

“What allowance did dear Henry make him?” asked Mr. Churchouse.

“Father gave him two hundred a year, and father paid all his debts before his twenty-first birthday; but he didn’t pay them again.  Raymond has told Aunt Jenny that he’s owing two hundred pounds at this moment.”

“And nothing to show for it—­we may be sure of that.  Well, it might have been worse.  Is the allowance to be continued?”

“No,” said Miss Ironsyde.  “That’s the point.  It is to cease.  Henry expressly directs that it is to cease; and to me that is very significant.”

“Of course, for it shows that he leaves Raymond in his brother’s hands.”

“I have heard Henry say that Raymond beat him,” continued Miss Ironsyde.  “He was a good father and a forgiving father, but temperamentally he was not built to understand Raymond.  Some people develop slowly and remain children much longer than other people.  Raymond is one of those.  Daniel, like my dear brother before him, has developed quickly and come to man’s estate and understanding.”