"Your father was the third son of Sir Edward Hatteras of Murdlestone, in the county of Hampshire?"
"He was."
"And the brother of Sir William, who had one daughter, Gwendoline Mary?"
"That is so."
"Well, Mr. Hatteras, it is my sad duty to inform you that within a week of your departure from England your cousin, the young lady just referred to, was drowned by accident in a pond near her home, and that her father, who had been ailing for some few days, died of heart disease on hearing the sad tidings. In that case, so my correspondents inform me, there being no nearer issue, you succeed to the title and estates—which I also learn are of considerable value, including the house and park, ten farms, and a large amount of house property, a rent roll of fifteen thousand a year, and accumulated capital of nearly a hundred thousand pounds."
"Good gracious! Is this really true?"
"Quite true. You can examine the letter for yourself."
I took it up from the table and read it through, hardly able to believe my eyes.
"You are indeed a man to be envied, Mr. Hatteras," said the lawyer. "The title is an old one, and I believe the property is considered one of the best in that part of England."
"It is! But I can hardly believe that it is really mine."