But the opening of the windows of heaven, and the unspeakable rush of life through channels too narrow and banks too weak to hold its tide, caused a terrible inundation: the red flood broke its banks, and weakened all the land.
Arctura sent for Mr. Graeme, and commissioned him to fetch the family lawyer from Edinburgh. Alone with him she gave instructions concerning her will. The man of business shrugged his shoulders, laden with so many petty weights, bowed down with so many falsest opinions, and would have expostulated with her.
“Sir!” she said.
“You have a cousin who inherits the title!” he suggested.
“Mr. Fortune,” she returned, “it may be I know as much of my family as you. I did not send for you to consult you, but to tell you how I would have my will drawn up!”
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” rejoined the lawyer, “but there are things which may make it one’s duty to speak out.”
“Speak then; I will listen—that you may ease your mind.”
He began a long, common-sense, worldly talk on the matter, nor once repeated himself. When he stopped,—
“Now have you eased your mind?” she asked.
“I have, my lady.”