“I don’t know,” said Skettle; and slowly drawing out a leather pocket book of ancient date, he took out a piece of paper and fitted it to the will.
“It is a conspiracy!”
“It is the will I saw you looking for the night of the squire’s death.”
“Let me go.” And leaning heavily on the arm of his fellow-knave, he moved with the gait and bearing of an old man, to the door.
“Great Heaven, this is awful!” said Jack.
********
Winter had passed and spring had clothed the earth with her soft, green mantle, and in her glad sunlight that sat like a benediction on the great elms and smooth lawn of Hurst, a party of ladies and gentlemen were standing on the stone steps that led up to the entrance.
It was, in a word, the wedding day of Squire Jack Newcombe and Miss Una Davenant, and these good and tried friends were waiting about the steps to see the bride and bridegroom start for their honeymoon.
That Len and Laura and Lady Bell should be there calls for no surprise, but how comes it that Gideon Rolfe should be a willing witness to the marriage of Una with one of the hated race of Davenants? Well, when the cause of hatred is removed, all hate vanishes from the heart of an honest man.
On the day he learned that the old squire had not wronged the girl he had stolen from Gideon, Gideon’s hatred had flown, and in its place had sprung up a longing for atonement; and what better step could he take toward burying the old animosity than in giving his adopted daughter to the man of her choice—the man who would make her, as her mother had been before her, the Squire of Hurst’s wife?