"Will," said Mavis, "we mustn't waste Mr. Cleaver's time by telling him our history;" and she gave a nervous fluttered laugh.

"Mr. Cleaver," said Dale glumly, "will pardon me for desiring to learn how others stand, as well as yourself."

"Oh, well," said Mr. Cleaver, "I think it might be premature to go into matters that do not directly concern Mrs. Dale."

"Yes," said Mavis, nervously, "we mustn't ask for secrets."

"It's just this," said Dale, with stolid insistence. "I do hope he has done something equally handsome for those relations of my wife whose names you mentioned--especially for her aunt, Mrs. J.E. Petherick, who is now past her youth, and to whom it would be a comfort. Also my wife's cousin Ruby, who is earning her livelihood on the continent by following the profession of a musician. Such a windfall would come as a blessing to her."

"Mr. Dale," said the solicitor, "I may safely say as much as this. No one who had the smallest grounds for expecting anything will find himself left out in the cold."

"Thank you, sir." Dale had raised his eyes, and, while speaking now, in the same sententious manner, he seemed to be observing Mr.

Cleaver's face very closely. "The fact is, my wife and I had no grounds whatever for expecting to be singled out for special rewards.

On the contrary, it was never in my wife's power to render the long and faithful service rendered by the others; so that if a bequest had fallen to us while others of the Petherick clan--if I may employ that expression--had bin pa.s.sed over, it might have bin difficult for us to benefit to the detriment of the rest of 'em--at least, without causing fam'ly squabbles."

"Then I'll freely rea.s.sure you. Such a contingency will not arise.

No," and Mr. Cleaver's tone became heartily enthusiastic. "It is a beautiful will. You'll see all the particulars in the newspapers before a week is over, and you'll say that no critic--however hard to please--could find fault. It is a will that is bound to attract the attention of the press."

"Then thank you again, sir. And good afternoon--with renewed thanks for the courteous way you wrote to my wife, and received the two of us to-day."

"Good afternoon." Mr. Cleaver smiled and shook hands good-humoredly.

"My congratulations, Mrs. Dale; and one word of advice, free gratis.

Invest your legacy wisely, and don't confound capital with income.

You're going to have two thousand pounds all told, not two thousand a year, you know."

"Oh, no, sir--I wouldn't be so foolish as to think so."

They had tea at a pastry-cook's in complete silence, and they were half-way home again before Mavis ventured to rouse her husband from his ominous gloom.

"Will," she said, with an a.s.sumption of calmness and confidence, "I didn't at once catch the drift of what you were saying to Mr. Cleaver, and when I tried to stop you it was because I was all on edge from hearing such a tremendous piece of news. Such a lot more than ever I could have _dreamed_ of."

He did not answer. Steadily watching the horse's ears, and holding the reins in both hands with the conscientious care of an unpractised coachman, he drove down the slope to the Cross Roads and round the corner into the woods.

"No, but I soon saw what was pa.s.sing through your mind, Will. You wanted to make quite sure that there would be nothing to cause talk. I don't myself believe people would have really noticed if I had been the only one. But, of course, as I am one of several, it stands to reason n.o.body can say anything nasty."

Still he did not answer.

"Will, you'll let me take the money, won't you?"

"I don't know. I must think."

"Yes, dear, but you'll think sensibly, won't you? Think of the use--to both of us. If it's mine in name, I count it all as yours every bit as much as mine."

"That's enough now. Don't go on talking about it."

"All right. Are you going to stop at Mr. Bates'?"

"No."

"He was very pressing."

"I've no spirit to tell him--or any one else--what we've heard over there."

"Will," and she drew close to him, nestling against him as much as she could venture to do without causing him difficulty in driving, "you said we were to look forward, not back. Don't get thinking of the past. What's done is done--and it _must_ be right to be happy if we can."

"Ah," and he gave a snort, "that's what the heathens used to say. I thought you were a Christian."

"So I am, Will. Christ preached mercy--yes, and happiness too."

"Thought He preached remorse for sins before you reach pardon and peace. But never mind religion--don't let's drag _that_ in. And leave me alone. Don't talk. I tell you I want to think."

"Very well, dear. Only this one thing. Keep this before you. Now that he's dead--"

"I've asked you to hold your tongue."

"And I will. But let me finish. However lofty you choose to look at it, it can't be wrong to take the money now he's gone."

"I wish his money had gone with him. Look at it lofty or low--take it or leave it--this cursed legacy reminds me of all I was trying to forget."

XI

Full particulars of the disposition of Mr. Barradine's fortune had now been published, and the world was admiringly talking about it.

The claims of the entire Petherick family would be once for all satisfied. Mrs. Petherick and that young person who had been sent to learn music at Vienna were each to receive as much as Mavis Dale; three other Pethericks would get five hundred pounds apiece; still more Pethericks would be dowered in a lesser degree. Then came the ordinary servants, with legacies proportionate to terms of service--everybody remembered, n.o.body left out in the cold. Then, with nice lump sums of increasing magnitude, came a baker's dozen of Barradine nephews, nieces, and second cousins; the Abbey domain was to go to an elderly first cousin; and then, after bequests to various charities, came the grand item that the local solicitor had in his mind when he foretold a salvo of newspaper comment.

The residue of the estate, the larger half of all the dead man's possessions, was to be employed in the establishment of a Home for parentless, unprotected, or dest.i.tute female children. The trustees of this inst.i.tution were to find a suitable site somewhere within five miles of the Abbey House, and if possible on the Barradine property, being guided in their selection of the exact spot by expert advice as to the character of the soil, the qualities of the air, and the facilities for obtaining a supply of pure water. When they had found the site they were immediately to build thereon, and provide accommodation at the earliest date for fifty small inmates, each of whom was to be reared, educated, and finally launched in life with a small dowry. The funds available would be more than sufficient for the number of children named; and Mr. Barradine expressed the wish that the number should not be increased if, as he hoped, the income of the Trust grew bigger with the pa.s.sage of time. He desired that extension of revenue should be devoted to improving the comfort and amenities of the fifty occupants, to increasing their dowries, and to a.s.sisting them after they had gone out into the world.

Not only the _Rodhaven District Courier_, but great London journals also, experienced difficulty in marshaling enough adjectives to convey their sense of admiration for such a perfect scheme. Ever since his death the local praise of Mr. Barradine's amiable qualities had been taking richer colors, and now the will seemed so to sanctify his memory that one felt he must be henceforth cla.s.sed with the traditional philanthropic heroes of England--those whose names grow brighter through the centuries.

When on Sunday Mr. Norton took for his text those beautiful words, "Suffer little children to come unto Me," all instantaneously guessed what he was getting at, and by the time he finished there was scarcely a dry eye that had not been wet at some point or other of an unusually long sermon. "We have had," he said in conclusion, "a striking instance of that n.o.blest of all the feelings of the human breast, tenderness and care for the weak and helpless; and without abrogating the practise of our church which forbids us to pray for the souls of those who have been summoned away from us, I will ask you all before dispersing to-day to join with me in a few moments' silent meditation on the lesson to be derived from a kindness that has proved undying--a pity that has the attribute of things eternal, and, speaking to us from the other side of the grave, may in all reverence be described as Angelic."

The talk about the vast sums to be expended in charity produced a curious effect on Mavis Dale. It seemed that her own two thousand pounds was a steadily diminishing quant.i.ty; she was still greatly excited whenever she thought about it, but she could not feel again the respectful rapture caused by her first thought of its lavishly generous extent. Perhaps just at first, doing what the solicitor advised her not to do, she had not altogether discriminated between capital and interest. Dazzled by the abstract notion of wealth, she had over-estimated concrete potentialities.

Of course William would allow her to accept the legacy. In the early days after their visit to Old Manninglea she had tormented herself with fears that he would attempt to force a renunciation of benefits from that quarter, and she had determined never to yield to so preposterous an exercise of authority; but now she felt certain that he would not thus drive her to open revolt. He was still somber and silent, but, however long he remained in this gloomy state, he would not interfere with her freedom in regard to the money.

Nevertheless, she felt relieved when he explicitly stated that there would be no further opposition on his part.

"Oh, Will, I can't tell you how glad I am to hear you talk so sensibly about it."

"It is not willingly that I say 'Yes.' Don't you go and think that."

"No. But you do see we couldn't act otherwise?"

"You must accept it--for this reason, and not for any other reason.