Then at last she broke down and wept from mingled sensations of relief and pain. Miss Lorraine had stood by too many deathbeds to be thrilled and unnerved as Aldyth was. She soothed the girl, and put her tenderly to bed.
Aldyth, oppressed by a sense of the gloom and mystery of death, presently sobbed herself to sleep, without giving a thought to any consequences her uncle's death might have for her. The hopes and fears that were alternating in Guy's mind, and causing him much inward agitation, lay quite outside her consciousness.
[CHAPTER XIX.]
THE MISTRESS OF WYNDHAM.
"YOU do not surely mean that nothing is left to Guy?" said Miss Lorraine, in a troubled tone.
Some hours had passed since the squire breathed his last, and she was with Mr. Ralph Greenwood in the old-fashioned library. The blinds were down, and even the outside venetians closed, shutting out the July sunshine and making twilight in the room.
The lawyer, his pince-nez on his nose, sat before the squire's old bureau, turning over some papers in a quick, business-like manner.
"By no means," he said, briskly. "No, no, it is not so bad as that. Guy has five thousand pounds and the farm at Wood Corner. Not a bad provision for a young man, but a poor equivalent for the heirship."
"When was this will made?" asked Miss Lorraine.
"At the beginning of the year. Guy had had a disagreement with his uncle. It was a great mistake, as I told him at the time. I did my best to soften Mr. Lorraine's feelings. I all but refused to make the will; but if I had done so, he would have sent for some one else. What a pity it is young people are so unpractical! Why could not those two have married now, as every one expected of them?"