There was another silence. Then Margaret,—eyes staring, breath coming hard, hands clenched, and face white as death, spoke.
"Do you mean," she said slowly and in a voice that trembled with suppressed passion, "that my child has been willed away from me?—from me—his mother? That this man—or any man—can have the right by law to take him from me?... My baby?... Oh, no! you don't mean this!... I was mad to think of it. But you see—I am so inexperienced."
"But, Mrs. De Jarnette," returned the lawyer, feeling his task harder even than he had feared, "I am obliged to tell you—much as I regret to do so—that it is true. There is a most unfortunate law in this District—not to call it by a harsher name—which gives a father the right to will away his child even from its mother. That law your late husband unfortunately knew about, and in a moment of great anger, and, as he claimed, of great provocation, he used that knowledge as we have seen."
"To stab the woman he had sworn to cherish," muttered Judge Kirtley, under his breath. Then, reaching for the will, he asked, sternly, "Were all the requirements of the law complied with in regard to witnesses?"
"Yes, sir. I am sorry to say that nothing has been omitted that would give validity to the will—or rather to this codicil."
"Then I am constrained to say," blurted the Judge, "that it was a dastardly thing!"
"I think I should say, in justice to myself," said Mr. Jarvis, a little stiffly, "that I made every effort to dissuade Mr. De Jarnette from doing this thing. I urged him to wait until the next day, knowing him to be an impulsive man, and feeling sure that he would wish afterwards to undo what he had done. But—he would not listen to me. I hoped that I could get him to change the will when he returned, and I can hardly doubt that he would have done so, had it not been for the unfortunate accident that ended his life."
Margaret had been listening breathlessly. As Mr. Jarvis stopped she turned to speak to Judge Kirtley and again encountered the steady gaze of Richard De Jarnette's black eyes. It seemed so strange, so unaccountable, for him to watch her so that before she could control it—if indeed control is ever possible—she felt a hot tide sweeping up from neck to brow. And the consciousness of this did not lessen the flow. Then it passed and left her paler than before. It was annoying but it did not stop her in what she had to say. A new thought had come to her while Mr. Jarvis was speaking.
"What is the date of that codicil?" she asked.
"April 30, 1890."