“I am sure he would not.—Then, till the funeral, you will stay with us!” concluded the parson, as he drove on.
“No, I thank you,” answered Richard: “I must be at my grandfather's. I will go there when I have seen Barbara.”
On the day of the funeral, no one disputed Richard's right to the place he took, and when it was over, he joined the company assembled to hear the late baronet's will. It was dated ten years before, and gave the two estates of Mortgrange and Cinqmer to his son, Arthur Lestrange There was in it no allusion to the possible existence of a son by his first wife. Richard rose. The lawyer rose also.
“I am sorry, sir Richard,” he said, “that we can find no later will. There ought to have been some provision for the support of the title.”
“My father died suddenly,” answered Richard, “and did not know of my existence until about five years ago.”
“All I can say is, I am very sorry.”
“Do not let it trouble you,” returned Richard. “It matters little to me; I am independent.”
“I am very glad to hear it. I had imagined it otherwise.”
“A man with a good trade and a good education must be independent!”
“Ah, I understand!—But your brother will, as a matter of course—. I shall talk to him about it. The estate is quite equal to it.”