Sir Gilbert considerately led his friend Charles into a corner where he was not conspicuous, and placed himself beside him; both of them being in good part concealed by the tall and portly person of a gentleman whom young Mowbray had never seen before, and whom indeed several persons, not too much interested in the scene to note what passed, had observed to enter with the funeral train after its return from the church, although he had not been present at the interment.
It is probable, however, that the master of the house himself was not aware of this; for he took no notice of him, and was in fact too fully occupied by the business afoot to know more or to think more of those around him than that they were there to witness the proudest and happiest moment of his life.
All the company being seated, and mute attentive silence hovering over all, Mr. Corbold, after bowing to two or three distinguished personages, whose seats were placed near the table at which he had stationed himself as if to assure their attentive witnessing of the act he was about to perform, broke open the seals of the parchment he held in his hand, and having spread it fairly open upon the table, read its contents aloud with a clear voice.
Never man had a more attentive auditory; no sound or movement interrupted the lecture; and when it was concluded, a murmur only, of rather shame-faced congratulation from the particular friends of Mr. Cartwright, broke the continued silence.
Something, meanwhile, very like a groan burst from the breast of the unhappy Mowbray; but Sir Gilbert Harrington hemmed so stoutly at the same moment, that no one heard it.
The company had already risen from their seats, and some were crowding round the meek and tranquil-looking vicar,—nay, one active carrier of evil tidings had slipped out of the room to inform Miss Torrington and Fanny of the nature of the departed lady's testament,—when the tall gentleman who sat before the disinherited son arose, and with great politeness requested the attention of the company for one moment before they separated, for the purpose of hearing a document which he should be happy to have the pleasure of reading to them, and which, if not of so extraordinary a nature as the one they had just listened to, and therefore less likely to excite general attention, was at least of later date.
Every one appeared to listen to this address with interest, and nearly the whole company immediately reseated themselves. Some keen-eyed persons fancied they perceived the Vicar of Wrexhill change colour; but they were probably mistaken; for when Mr. Corbold whispered to him, "In the name of Heaven, what does this mean, cousin!—You never left her, did you?" he replied, also in a whisper, but in a steady voice, "Never for time enough to draw a codicil,—it is impossible!" And having so spoken, he too reseated himself in the attitude of a listener.
The tall gentleman then drew forth from his pocket another parchment, purporting to be the last will of the same lady, containing even more skins that the first; and running over with technical volubility a preamble, only important as describing the testator's state of mind, he proceeded to the more essential portion of the document, and then read slowly and loudly, so that all men might hear, the bequest of all she died possessed of to her beloved son Charles Mowbray; the only deductions being legacies of fifty thousand pounds to each of her younger children, and her jewels to her daughter Helen, provided that within one year from the date of the will she should marry, or have married, Colonel William Harrington, of his Majesty's —— Dragoons.
The name of Cartwright appeared not in any shape; probably because the provision for her younger children would have included the infant yet unborn when this will was made, had it survived her.
This document was as fully and satisfactorily signed, sealed, witnessed, and delivered, as the former one; the only difference being that it was dated some months later.