"It's his writing," said Lucilla, as the postman stumped away. "You open it."
The stout envelope yielded several long, legal-looking papers and a bank pass book. Also a letter.
"Dear Jane and Lucilla,
"Enclosed with other papers of less interest are the title-deeds of Hope Cottage, which is the property of Lucilla. Also a bank-book for Jane. I have paid £500 into Jane's account at Barclay's Bank.
"This, my dear Jane and my dear Lucilla, is, I very much fear, all that you will ever see of the fortune bequeathed to you by your late aunt. I have been unfortunate in speculation, and I have decided, rather than face the bankruptcy and other courts, to fly the scene.
"I am leaving you the house, which I cannot take with me, and £500, which I hope may enable you to start in some business that will keep you. A dressmaking business? Horticulture? A bonnet-shop? Duchesses do it, you know, nowadays.
"I can ill spare the £500, but I cannot bear to leave you penniless. And I feel that I am the most unfortunate of men in having to leave you at all. But I have no alternative.
"You have often begged me to take you away from school. Well, now I have done it. And to let you lead your own lives. Well—lead them.
"And accept the warmest wishes for your success in every department of life, from your unfortunate and absolutely dished and done-for trustee,
"Arthur Panton."
The girls looked at each other.
"Whatever shall we do?" said Lucilla breathlessly.
"Well, first of all," said Jane, very pale but steady, "I think we ought to do what we ought to have done last night."
"What's that?"
"Feed that rabbit. There's no reason why he should starve."
