"Nearly," and Mrs. Harper hurriedly folded the letter, which lay still on her lap. Miss Valery's eye caught the writing; Nathanael gave it to her.

Anne read it; at first with a natural womanly feeling--nay, even agitation. Soon this ceased, absorbed in the infinite peace and content of her whole mien. "I knew all this long ago," she said calmly. "It was a--a _mistake_ of Frederick's."--Then, still calmly; "What do you think I have just heard from Marmaduke!--He"--there could be but one she meant--"he has safely landed at Havre."

"Uncle Brian!" the young people both cried, and then instinctively repressed the joy. It seemed too sacred to be expressed in ordinary fashion. And pa.s.sing naturally from one thought to another, Nathanael glanced round the room; the unused desk, the scattered papers left to be examined by the unfamiliar hands of a younger generation. Had the absent one come but a little sooner! "Alas!" he said, "it seems as if the world's universal sorrow lay in those words, '_Too late.'_"

Miss Valery sank on a chair, her temporary strength departing. Her hands dropped into that fold that was peculiar and habitual to them--a simple att.i.tude, not unlike Chantrey's "Resignation."

"You speak truly, Nathanael. But 'our times are in _His_ hand.'"

She said no more, and shortly Mr. Harper, taking with him the sealed packet that was endorsed "_My Will_" led the way to where the family were a.s.sembled. In doing so there grew over him the hard silence always visible when he was much affected. But Agatha was not surprised or hurt: she began to understand him better now.

In the dining-room were only the immediate family. Every one knew the probable purport of the will, and how simple a doc.u.ment it was likely to be; for the patriarchal old Squire hated the very mention of law, and it had been his pride that, though not entailed, the inheritance of Kingcombe Holm had descended for centuries unbroken by a single legal squabble. Therefore they all waited indifferently, merely to go through a necessary form; Harriet Dugdale and her husband, Eulalie and her _fiance_, and the solitary Mary. Major Harper alone was rather restless, especially when the three others came in from the study. It was noticeable that, with all his smooth manner, Frederick never seemed quite at ease in the presence of Miss Valery. Nevertheless he tried, and successfully, to a.s.sume his position as elder brother and present head of the family. He gave Anne a gracious welcome.

"I scarcely expected you would have honoured us so far. This is entirely a family meeting."

"Shall I leave?"

"Oh, no," cried everybody at once, "Anne is so thoroughly one of the family."

"Certainly," responded Major Harper, bowing though his brows were knit.

He waited till Anne took her seat, and then sat down, silent. Many changes, vivid, and various, pa.s.sed over his flexible mouth. At last, leaning forward, he hid it with his hand. There was a brief hush in the men, of solemnity--in the women, of mourning. More than one tear splashed on the black dress of the tender-hearted Mary.

Nathanael stood--the will in his hand--hesitating.

"It seems to me, that as this is a family meeting, we might--not necessarily, but still out of kindness and respect--postpone it for a few days, that the only remaining member of the family may be present."

"Who is that?" said the elder brother.

"Uncle Brian."

One or two voices, especially the Dugdales, seconded this, and eagerly proposed to wait for Uncle Brian.

"Impossible!" Major Harper said, hastily. "I have engagements. I cannot wait for any one."

"But"--

"Nathanael--don't argue. Remember, I am the elder brother. Give me my father's will." Nathanael paused a moment, and gave it. "The seal has been broken and re-fastened," Frederick added, breaking it with rather nervous hands. He tried to glance over it, but his eyes wandered unsteadily. "There, take it and read. I hate business."

And he threw himself back in his seat, which happened to be the old Squire's especial chair. Agatha thought it was thoughtless of him to use it.

Nathanael read the will aloud. It was dated ten years back, and was in the Squire's own hand, drawn up simply, but with perfect clearness. The division of fortune was as they all expected: a moderate funded sum to each of the daughters and to Nathanael; the estate, with all real and personal property, to go to the eldest son. There were a few small bequests to servants, and one gift of the late Mrs. Harper's jewels.

"I meant them," the old man wrote, "for my eldest son's wife.

Disappointed in this, I leave them to Anne Valery."

Major Harper moved restlessly in his chair. Anne sat quiet. The young Agatha looked at them, and wondered if people grew callous as they grew old.

"Is it all read?" said Frederick.

"Yes. Stay, here are a few lines; a codicil, I fancy, affixed with seals to the body of the will I can hardly make it out."

And as Mr. Harper perused it, his wife observed his countenance change.

He let the paper drop, and sat silent.

"What is it? Read,", cried Harrie Dugdale.

"I cannot--Anne, will you? G.o.d knows, brothers and sisters"--and he looked all round the circle with an eagerly appealing gaze--"G.o.d knows I never knew or dreamed of this. Anne, read."

"Shall I read, Major Harper?"

He was gazing out of the window with an absent air. At the sound of her voice he started, and gave some mechanical a.s.sent.

Anne read the date--of only twelve days back.

"That was the very day that he was taken ill, you know," whispered Mary.

The codicil began:

"I, Nathanael Harper, being in sound mind and body, do hereby make my last will and testament, utterly revoking all others, in so far as relates to my two sons. I leave to my younger son, Nathanael Locke Harper, all my landed, real, and personal estate, praying that he may long live and maintain our name in honour at Kingcombe Holm. To my eldest son--having no desire to expose to ruin the family estate, or link the family name with more dishonour than it already bears--to my eldest son, Frederick Harper, I leave the sum of One Shilling."

Anne's reading ceased. Dead silence, utter, frightened silence, followed. Then arose a chorus of women's voices--"Oh, Frederick!--oh, Frederick!"

Frederick rose, feebly smiling. "It is a mistake--all a mistake. My father was not in his right mind."

The sisterly tide turned. "Oh, hush, Frederick! How wicked of you to say so!"

"Well read it over again," said Marmaduke Dugdale, waking up into the interests of the world around him. Anne gave him the paper, and he read it with his ponderous, manly voice, rounding out every bitter word which Anne had softened down. All was undoubtedly legal, signed in his own hand, and witnessed by two of his servants. There could be no doubt it was done immediately before the paralytic attack, when he was perfectly in his senses; indeed, he could not be said ever to have lost them.

The family sat, awed by their father's deed; to question which never struck them for a moment--legal chicanery was not rife at Kingcombe Holm. They looked at the disinherited brother with a sort of shrinking wonder, as if he had done some great unknown wickedness. He might have sat there ever so long, conscience-stricken and stupified, but this family gaze stung him into violence.

"I say it is a cheat--how or by whom contrived I know not--but it is a cheat. My father loved me--the only one of you who ever did. If there was a coolness between us, he forgave me when he died. You all saw that."

There was no denying it. Every one remembered how the father's last dying look of love had been on his eldest son. Again the tide of family feeling changed. They threw doubtful glances towards Nathanael, except his wife. But she drew closer to him, and trembled and doubted no more.

He stood, meeting the eyes of all his family. In his aspect was great distress, but entire composure--not a shadow of hesitation or confusion.

Nor, on the other hand, was there any triumph. When he spoke--they seemed expecting him to speak--his voice was low and steady:

"You know, brother, and all the rest of you know, that I have had no hand in this matter."

"I know nothing of the sort," cried Frederick. "I only know that I have been defrauded--disgraced.--Not by any act of my father's, or he would not lie quiet in his grave. My father always loved me." And the quick feeling natural to Major Harper made him hesitate--unable to proceed.

But soon he continued, vehemently:

"I will find out this. Evil speakers, malicious, underhand hypocrites, have turned my father against me. I declare to Heaven that I never wronged any"--

Frederick stopped--interrupted not by words, for there was perfect silence--but by a certain quiet look of Anne Valery's, which fastened on his face. He turned crimson--he had so much of the woman in him, though of womanhood in its weakest form. He glanced from Miss Valery to Agatha, and then back again.

"Anne--Anne Valery, tell me do you know anything?"