“Oh, pray don't be frightened. I merely meant to say that there was an eventuality which might rescue me from this necessity. I have told you nothing about it hitherto, dear papa, because I inherit your own wholesome dislike to entertaining my friends with what may turn out mere moonshine. Now, however, that the project has a certain vitality in it, you shall hear it.”
Holmes drew his chair close to her, and, laying down his pipe, prepared to listen with all attention.
“If I hate anything,” said she, half peevishly, “it is to talk of the bygone, and utter the names of people that I desire never to hear again. It can't be helped, however; and here goes. After the events in Jersey, you remember I left the island and came abroad. There were all sorts of confusion about H.'s affairs. The law had taken possession of his papers, placed seals on everything, and resisted my application to remove them, on the vexatious plea that I was not his wife, and could not administer as such. A long litigation ensued, and at last my marriage was admitted, and then I took out probate and received a few thousand pounds, and some little chance property; the bulk of his fortune was, however, in America, and settled on Clara by a will, which certain writings showed was in the possession of her uncle, now nominated to be her guardian, a certain Harvey Winthrop, of Norfolk, Virginia. I opened a correspondence with him, and suggested the propriety of leaving Clara with me, as I had always regarded her as my own child, and hinting at the appropriateness of some allowance for her maintenance and education. He replied with promptitude and much kindness, expressed great sympathy for my late loss, and made a very liberal settlement for Clara.
“All went on peaceably and well for two years, when one morning came a letter from Winthrop of a most alarming nature. Without any positive charge, it went on to say that he had, for reasons which his delicacy would prefer to spare me, decided on himself assuming the guardianship of his niece, and that if I would kindly come to London, or name any convenient place on the Continent for our meeting, he would punctually present himself at the time agreed on. Of course I guessed what had occurred,—indeed, it had always been a matter of astonishment to me how long I had been spared; at all events, I determined on resistance. I wrote back a letter, half sorrow, half indignation; I spoke of the dear child as all that remained of consolation to my widowed heart; I said that though it was in his competence to withhold from me the little pittance which served to relieve some of the pressure of our narrow means, yet I would not separate myself from my darling child, even though at the cost of sharing with her a mere sufficiency for support. I told him, besides, that he should never hear from me more, nor would all his efforts enable him to trace us. It was then I became Mrs. Penthony Morris. I suppose Winthrop was sorry for his step; at least, by a variety of curious advertisements in English papers, he suggested that some accommodation might be arranged, and entreated me to renew intercourse with him. There were many reasons why I could not agree to this. Clara, too, was of great use to me. To a lone woman in the world, without any definite belongings, a child is invaluable. The advertisements were continued, and even rewards offered for such information as might lead to my discovery. All in vain: he never succeeded in tracing me, and at length gave up the pursuit.
“I must now skip over some years which have no bearing on this incident, and come to a period comparatively recent, when, in the transaction of certain purchases of American securities, I came unexpectedly on the mention of a new railroad line through a district whose name was familiar to me. I set myself to think where, when, and how I had heard of this place before, and at last remembered it was from H———, who used to talk of this property as what would one day make his daughter a great heiress. My moneyed speculations had led me into much intimacy here with a banker, Mr. Trover, over whom an accidental discovery gave me absolute power. It was no less than a forgery he had committed on my name, and of which, before relinquishing the right to take proceedings against him, I obtained his full confession in writing. With this tie over the man, he was my slave; I sent him here and there at my pleasure, to buy, and sell, and gain information, and so on, and, above all, to obtain a full account of the value of this American property, where it lay, and how it was occupied. It was in the midst of these inquiries came a great financial crash, and my agent was obliged to fly. At first he went to Malta; he came back, but, after a few weeks, he set out for the States. He was fully in possession of the circumstances of this property, and Clara's right to it, and equally so of my determination that she should never inherit it. We had, on one of the evenings he was here, a long conversation on the subject, and he cunningly asked me,—
“'How was the property settled in reversion?'
“It was a point I never knew, for I never saw H.'s will.
“'The will was made four years before his death; might he not have made a later one on his death-bed?—might he not have bequeathed the estate in reversion to yourself in case she died?—might she not have died?'
“All these he asked, and all of them had been my own unceasing thoughts for years back. It was a scheme I had planned and brooded over days and nights long. It was to prepare the road for it that I sent away Clara, and, under the name of Stocmar, had her inscribed at the Conservatoire of Milan. Was it that Trover had read my secret thoughts, or had he merely chanced upon them by mere accident? I did not dare to ask him, for I felt that by his answer I should be as much in his power as he was in mine.
“'I have often imagined there might be such a will,' said I; 'there is no reason to suppose it is not in existence. Could it not be searched for and found?'