Pash frowned her into silence. "The will," he said, looking at the writing, "consists of a few lines. It leaves all the property of the testator to 'my daughter.'"
"Your daughter!" screamed Deborah. "Why, you ain't married."
"I am reading from the will," snapped Pash, coloring, and read again: "I leave all the real and personal property of which I may die possessed of to my daughter."
"Sylvia Norman!" cried Deborah, hugging her darling.
"There you are wrong," corrected Pash, folding up the so-called will, "the name of Sylvia isn't mentioned."
"Does that make any difference?" asked Paul, quietly.
"No. Miss Norman is an only daughter, I believe."
"And an only child," said Deborah, "so that's all right. My pretty, you will have them jewels and five thousand a year."
"Oh, Paul, what a lot of money!" cried Sylvia, appalled. "Whatever will we do with it all?"
"Why, marry and be happy, of course," said Paul, rejoicing not so much on account of the money, although that was acceptable, but because this delightful girl was all his very—very own.