“The same; only—you are heir to Glen Pollok. It is all yours—a cool £10,000 a year.”
The general could not speak for a moment; then he grasped the kindly old solicitor’s hand once more, and with tears in his eyes.
“God in heaven bless you, Richards,” he exclaimed, “and his name be praised. Poor Jack and dear Flo, they will not now be beggars!”
“And, Richards,” he added, “Flora shall be wedded with all the pomp and glory due to a daughter of the proud house of Grant Mackenzie.”
“Ah!” laughed Richards, “there is the old reckless Celtic blood asserting itself again. Don’t forget, my friend, that even £10,000 a year can be spent, and that right easily too.”
“I won’t, I won’t; you shall be my guide.”
“And then, you see,” continued Richards, “there is the mortgage to pay off on Grantley Hall.”
“Grantley Hall! why, isn’t that sold long ago?”
Richards laughed heartily now. “O bother,” he cried. “I’ve let the cat out of the bag, and I didn’t mean to. I meant to give you such a pleasant surprise. Well, well, well,—
‘The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men
Gang aft agley.’”