It was a shock rather than an astonishment. She said to herself that she had looked for this: she had known that he would come as the bearer of ill news, if ill news were to be brought to her. For a moment she remained silent looking at the bit of pasteboard which said so much. Should she refuse to see him, should she deny him the pleasure of triumphing over her, and force him to send through another channel whatever news he brought? She was strongly tempted to this, but pride in the first place—the pride of not wishing to let him imagine that he had any power to move her—rejected the idea; and in the second place she felt that she must know at once whatever he had to tell. If she refused to see him, he would be capable of making her suffer suspense for an indefinite length of time. Steadying her voice to quiet indifference, therefore, she said to the servant: "Show Mr. Rathborne in here."
A minute later the curtains between the two rooms were drawn back, and Rathborne entered. She rose and bowed slightly, looking more princess-like than ever in her beauty and stateliness, and in the midst of the luxury which surrounded her. No detail of her appearance or her manner was lost upon the man who had come with his heart full of bitterness toward her. And if an additional touch to this bitterness had been needed, her haughtiness, and her air of calmly possessing a place where she belonged, would have given it. The recollection of some words of his was fresh in the minds of both as they looked at each other. "I promise you that in the hour when your schemes are nearest success, you will find them defeated by me." These had been his last words to her. Was he come now to tell her that they were fulfilled? This was the thought in her mind, but there was no sign of it in her manner or her glance. She stood, composedly waiting for him to explain the object of his visit; and it was he who had to speak first.
"I have ventured to ask the honor of this interview, Miss Lynde," he said—and, under its outward respect, she keenly felt the mockery of his tone,—"in order to make a communication of importance to you. It is true, I might have made it to your lawyer, but I thought it best that I should be myself the bearer of such news to you."
"I fully appreciate your motives," she replied, in her clear, flute-like tones. "Pray spare yourself and me any apologies, and let me know what possible news of importance can have fallen to you to bring me."
As she understood the underlying mockery in his voice, so he heard and felt the scorn of hers. Her clear, brilliant glance said to him: "I know that you have come here because you hope to humble me, but I shall only show you how despicable I consider you." It stung him as she had always had the faculty of stinging him, and roused his determination to make his tidings as bitter to her as possible.
"The news which I bring you," he said, "is most important to your interest, since it is the intelligence that I am directed to bring suit at once to set aside Mr. Singleton's will made in your favor, in order that the estate may devolve to the natural heir."
"Indeed!" she said, quietly, with admirable self-control. "And may I beg to know who is the natural heir who proposes to enter into this contest?"
"An heir against whose claim you will find it impossible to fight," he answered, with a ring of triumph in his voice;—"one who has been supposed to be dead, but who has been roused, by the news that his inheritance has been alienated from him, to prove that he is living. In other words, my client is Mr. Singleton's only son, George Singleton."
CHAPTER XXII.