We have given a brief epitome of the letter that declared to Lady Wynde that her prayer was answered, and that she was a widow.
She was sitting in the drawing-room at Hawkhurst when the letter was brought in to her. She was still sitting there, the letter lying on her lap, twice read, when her gray companion stole into the room.
“A letter from Sir Harold, Octavia?” said Artress, glancing at the black-bordered missive.
“No, it is from that Surgeon Graham,” answered her ladyship, with an exultant thrill in her low, soft voice. “You cannot guess the news, Artress. Sir Harold is dead!”
“Dead?”
“Yes,” cried Lady Wynde, “and I am a widow. Is it not glorious? A widow, well-jointured and free to marry again! Ha, ha! Tell the household the sad news, Artress, and tell them all that I am too overcome with grief to speak to them. Let the bell at the village be set tolling. Send a notice of the death to the Times. I am a widow, and the guardian of the heiress of Hawkhurst! You must write to my step-daughter of her bereavement, and also drop a note to Craven. A widow, and without crime. The heiress of Hawkhurst in my hands to do with as I please! Your future is to be linked with mine, my young Neva, and a fate your father never destined for you shall be yours. I stand upon the pinnacle of success at last.”
CHAPTER V.
SETTLING INTO HER PLACE.
The announcement of Sir Harold Wynde’s death in India, so soon too after the death of his son and heir, produced a shock throughout his native county of Kent, and even throughout England; for, although the baronet had been no politician, he had been one of the best known men in the kingdom, and there were many who had known and esteemed him, who mourned deeply at his tragic fate.
The London papers, the Times, the Morning Post, and others, came out with glowing eulogies of the grand-souled baronet whose life had been so noble and beneficent. The local papers of Kent copied these long obituaries, and added thereto accounts of the pedigree of the Wynde family, and a description of the young heiress upon whom, by the untimely deaths of both father and brother, the great family estates and possessions, all excepting the bare title, now devolved.
The retainers of the family, the farmers and servants—those who had known Sir Harold best—mourned for him, refusing to be comforted. They would never know again a landlord so genial, nor a master so kindly: and although they hoped for much from his daughter, yet, as they mournfully said to each other, Miss Neva would marry some day, and the chances were even that she would give to Hawkhurst a harsh and tyrannical master.