As the thought flashed through her mind, she was unrolling the document with trembling hands. The date was April of the present year. And Mrs. Rogers had said that the other will was made on New Year's Day! This was a later will.
She grew cold and faint as the thought came to her that this will might alter everything—Wyndham might not be Aldyth's; it might not be in her power to give a home to her mother and sisters. Mrs. Stanton felt that she must read the will; she must get to know what its provisions were.
Forcing her mind to the task, she slowly read through the will, grasping with difficulty the meaning of the legal words. When she had finished her face was white and her breath came quickly. That first presentiment, alas! was confirmed. The will changed all. It made Wyndham and the bulk of the property, together with the farm at Wood Corner, over to Guy Lorraine, and left Aldyth with six thousand pounds.
Mrs. Stanton had an instantaneous perception of all that this fact meant for her. She did not doubt that Aldyth would still be willing to share her income with them, but how straitened their means would be! She saw herself and daughters living in a small, inconvenient house, like "common people," Gladys, perhaps, in her youth and beauty, reduced to the humiliation of taking a situation. And Cecil—what would become of Cecil's prospects?
"It is not right, it is not just," she murmured, feeling that arrangements so opposed to her interests could not but be wrong. But must it be so? Quickly came the tempting thought—"No one knows of it but me. Mr. Greenwood did not see it. Perhaps it would never have been found."
What a pity she had been so curious to examine the old bureau! And yet if she had not found this will, another might have done so. Quick came the thought, "I am glad it was not Aldyth who found it."
Yet why? What was she going to do with it, now it had come to light? Not to proclaim the fact at once, certainly. Should she thrust it back in the recess, and leave it for some one else to discover? She shrank from the idea. It would be like having a drawn sword for ever hanging above her head. What then? Destroy it? She turned hot and then cold as the evil suggestion presented itself. Was it not felony to destroy a will? That was a very ugly word. She could not do such a thing as that. And yet—she wished the will were destroyed. She would be glad to know that it would never have power to affect her welfare.
She glanced at it again. The names of the witnesses were strange to her. One had written "solicitor" and a London address after his name. Would he be likely to know that the will had not come into operation? Would it be safe to destroy it? The perspiration rose on Mrs. Stanton's forehead as she asked herself this question. Suddenly, to her consternation, she heard voices close at hand in the garden.
It was Aldyth and Gladys. Whilst she had been searching the bureau, the afternoon had worn away, and they had returned from their drive.