"I believe so; upon my conscience I do!" said Mr. Menteith, earnestly, "else I never should have felt justified in keeping them out of your way as I have done."
"Who are they? I mean, of what does the family consist?"
"An old man—Colonel Bruce he calls himself, and is known as such in every disreputable gambling town on the Continent; a long tribe of girls, and one son, eldest or youngest, I forget which, who was sent to India through some influence I used for your father's sake, but who may be dead by now for aught I know. Indeed, the utmost I have had to do with the family of late years has been paying the annuity granted them by the late earl, which I continued, not legally, but through charity, on trust that the present earl would never call me to account for the same."
"Most certainly I never shall."
"Then you will take my advice, and forgive my intruding upon you a little more of it?"
"Forgive? I am thankful, my good old friend, for every wise word you say to me."
Again the good lawyer hesitated: "There is a subject, one exceedingly difficult to speak of, but it should be named, since you might not think of it yourself. Lord Cairnforth, the only way in which you can secure your property against these Bruces is by at once making your will."
"Making my will!" replied the earl, looking as if the new responsibilities opening upon him were almost bewildering.
"Every man who has any thing to leave ought to make a will as soon as ever he comes of age. Vainly I urged this upon your father."
"My poor father! That he should die—so young and strong—and I should live—how strange it seems! You think, then—perhaps Dr. Hamilton also thinks—that my life is precarious?"