At first, he had been highly entertained by Juliet's self-will and audacity. He had observed them with amusement, as we watch the wilfulness of a tiny child or the frolicsomeness of a kitten. They seemed but childish failings which she would lose as she grew older. But to-night, for the first time, he felt misgivings as he thought of Juliet's future. He had already adopted her in his heart as a daughter. He had confided to her mother his intention of leaving Juliet all that he had. Now, however, he reflected that the command of money might be a fatal gift to one so pretty and young and wilful. He remembered with uneasiness the young man whom he had seen watching Juliet so intently. Yes, money might make her the prey of a worthless fortune-seeker. He must weigh the matter well, lest inadvertently, he did harm instead of good to the girl he loved.
Not only was Ralph Tracy his own medical man, he liked to be his own lawyer as well. It vexed him to think that the simple will which he could have drawn up himself would hardly meet the necessities of the case. To secure the property to Juliet, and protect it from unscrupulous hands, it would be necessary to make careful provisions. He hardly knew if he were equal to framing them himself, but ere he called in the aid of a solicitor, he would have a try at it, with the help of sundry large books crammed full of legal information which was often very hard to digest.
Such was Mr. Tracy's resolve, but he did not immediately proceed to carry it out. He found it more agreeable to let the thing slide for a while. It is curious how reluctant most men are to make provision for the event of their decease.
Yet he was really uneasy about Juliet when he retired to rest after their return from the Palace. He was so troubled, indeed, that he could get little rest. He could hardly have slept worse or had more frightful dreams, had he supped intemperately on beef-steak, instead of on the very thin cocoa and dry biscuits which were all he permitted himself.
And Juliet too passed a restless night, but the dreams which visited her broken slumbers were of another order. One gay scene followed another in her visions. There was laughter and singing and applause, and ever she was the gayest of the gay, the most admired of the admired, the cynosure of all eyes. She was singing before the Queen in Buckingham Palace, and the Princess of Wales was advancing to present her with a huge bouquet, when the postman's loud knock resounding through the house woke her to the consciousness that it was only a dream.
When she came downstairs an hour later, her uncle had long finished his frugal meal, and was leisurely studying his newspaper. He laid it aside when she entered, and talked to her as she ate her breakfast. Juliet would talk of nothing but the concert. When she had finished her meal, she sat down at the piano, and began to play snatches of the melodies she had heard. Although she had made little progress under Salome's tuition, Juliet had a fine ear for music. Presently she broke into a good old song, which was a favourite with her mother, "The oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree."
Her uncle listened with pleasure. The familiar words recalled to him vividly the days of his early manhood. When she ceased, he thanked her warmly, and not without emotion.
"That song carries me back over many years," he said. "Ah, you cannot think what it is to be old, and to have the scenes of your youth come back to you like dreams. You have a very nice voice, dear; I like to hear you sing."
"I am glad you like my voice," Juliet said; "but it needs training sadly. I want some good singing lessons. I am trying to save money to pay for them."
"You need not save money for that, Juliet. I will pay for the lessons. Why did you not speak to me about it before?"