"I have just come from the house," he said. "He is still insensible.

They tell me he came to himself once, just a little, and murmured _Richard_, but has not spoken since."

"Let us go to him!" said Richard.

"I fear they will try to prevent you from seeing him."

"They shall not find it easy."

"I have a trap outside."

"Come along."

They reached Mortgrange, and stopped at the lodge. Richard walked up to the door.

"How is my father?" he asked.

"Much the same, sir, I believe."

"Is it true that he wanted to see me?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Is he in his own room?"

"Yes, sir; but, I beg your pardon, sir," said the man, "I have my lady's orders to admit no one!"

While he spoke, Richard pa.s.sed him, and went straight to his father's room, which was on the ground-floor. He opened the door softly, and entered. His father lay on the bed, with the Ba.r.s.et surgeon and the London doctor standing over him. The latter looked round, saw him, and came to him.

"I gave orders that no one should be admitted," he said, in a low stern tone.

"I understand my father wished to see me!" answered Richard.

"He cannot see you."

"He may come to himself any moment!"

"He will never come to himself," returned the doctor.

"Then why keep me out?" said Richard.

The eyes of the dying man opened, and Richard received his last look.

Sir Wilton gave one sigh, and death was past. Whether life was come, G.o.d only, and those who watched on the other side, knew. Lady Ann came in.

"The good baronet is gone!" said the physician.

She turned away. Her eyes glided over Richard as if she had never before seen him. He went up to the bed, and she walked from the room. When Richard came out, he found Wingfold where he had left him, and got into the pony-carriage beside him. The parson drove off.

"His tale is told," said Richard, in a choking voice. "He did not speak, and I cannot tell whether he knew me, but I had his last look, and that is something. I would have been a good son to him if he had let me--at least I would have tried to be."

He sat silent, thinking what he might have done for him. Perhaps he would not have died if he had been with him, he thought.

"It is best," said Wingfold. "We cannot say anything would be best, but we must say everything is best."

"I think I understand you," said Richard. "But oh how I would have loved him if he would have let me!"

"And how you will love him!" said Wingfold, "for he will love you. They are getting him ready to let you now. I think he is loving you in the darkness. He had begun to love you long before he went. But he was the slave of the nature he had enfeebled and corrupted. I hope endlessly for him--though G.o.d only knows how long it may take, even after the change is begun, to bring men like him back to their true selves.--But surely, Richard," he cried, bethinking himself, and pulling up his ponies, "your right place is at Mortgrange--at least so long as what is left of your father is lying in the house!"

"Yes, no doubt I and I did think whether I ought not to a.s.sert myself, and remain until my father's will was read; but I concluded it better to avoid the possibility of anything unpleasant. I cannot of course yield my right to be chief mourner. I think my father would not wish me to do so."

"I am sure he would not.--Then, till the funeral, you will stay with us!" concluded the parson, as he drove on.

"No, I thank you," answered Richard: "I must be at my grandfather's. I will go there when I have seen Barbara."

On the day of the funeral, no one disputed Richard's right to the place he took, and when it was over, he joined the company a.s.sembled to hear the late baronet's will. It was dated ten years before, and gave the two estates of Mortgrange and Cinqmer to his son, Arthur Lestrange There was in it no allusion to the possible existence of a son by his first wife.

Richard rose. The lawyer rose also.

"I am sorry, sir Richard," he said, "that we can find no later will.

There ought to have been some provision for the support of the t.i.tle."

"My father died suddenly," answered Richard, "and did not know of my existence until about five years ago."

"All I can say is, I am very sorry."

"Do not let it trouble you," returned Richard. "It matters little to me; I am independent."

"I am very glad to hear it. I had imagined it otherwise."

"A man with a good trade and a good education must be independent!"

"Ah, I understand!--But your brother will, as a matter of course--. I shall talk to him about it. The estate is quite equal to it."

"The estate shall not be burdened with me," said Richard with a smile.

"I am the only one of the family able to do as he pleases."

"But the t.i.tle, sir Richard!"

"The t.i.tle must look after itself. If I thought it in the smallest degree dependent on money for its dignity, I would throw it in the dirt.

If it means anything, it means more than money, and can stand without it. If it be an honour, please G.o.d, I shall keep it honourable. Whether I shall set it over my shop, remains to be considered.--Good morning!"

As he left the room, a servant met him with the message that lady Ann wished to see him in the library. Cold as ever, but not colder than always, she poked her long white hand at him.

"This is awkward for you, Richard," she said, "but more awkward still for Arthur. Mortgrange is at your service until you find some employment befitting your position. You must not forget what is due to the family.

It is a great pity you offended your father." Richard was silent.

"He left it therefore in my hands to do as I thought fit. Sir Wilton did not die the rich man people imagined him, but I am ready to place a thousand pounds at your disposal."

"I should be sorry to make the little he has left you so much less,"

answered Richard.