"It is, Sir Gervaise, and I am the unworthy individual who is to profit by it, according to the common notions of men, though Heaven knows I shall consider it any thing but a gain; still, I am the unworthy individual who is to be benefited by my uncle's death."
"Your father was the baronet's next brother?" observed Sir Gervaise, casually, a shade of distrust passing athwart his mind, though coming from what source, or directed to what point, he was himself totally unable to say. "Mr. Baron Wychecombe, I believe, was your parent?"
"He was, Sir Gervaise, and a most tender and indulgent father, I ever found him. He left me his earnings, some seven hundred a year, and I am sure the death of Sir Wycherly is as far from my necessities, as it is from my wishes."
"Of course you will succeed to the baronetcy, as well as to the estate?" mechanically asked Sir Gervaise, led on by the supererogatory expressions of Tom, himself, rather than by a vulgar curiosity, to ask questions that, under other circumstances, he might have thought improper.
"Of course, sir. My father was the only surviving brother of Sir Wycherly; the only one who ever married; and I am his eldest child. Since this melancholy event has occurred, it is quite fortunate that I lately obtained this certificate of the marriage of my parents—is it not, sir?"
Here Tom drew from his pocket a soiled piece of paper, which professed to be a certificate of the marriage of Thomas Wychecombe, barrister, with Martha Dodd, spinster, &c. &c. The document was duly signed by the rector of a parish church in Westminster, and bore a date sufficiently old to establish the legitimacy of the person who held it. This extraordinary precaution produced the very natural effect of increasing the distrust of the vice-admiral, and, in a slight degree, of giving it a direction.
"You go well armed, sir," observed Sir Gervaise, drily. "Is it your intention, when you succeed, to carry the patent of the baronetcy, and the title-deeds, in your pocket?"
"Ah! I perceive my having this document strikes you as odd, Sir Gervaise, but it can be easily explained. There was a wide difference in rank between my parents, and some ill-disposed persons have presumed so far to reflect on the character of my mother, as to assert she was not married at all."
"In which case, sir, you would do well to cut off half-a-dozen of their ears."
"The law is not to be appeased in that way, Sir Gervaise. My dear parent used to inculcate on me the necessity of doing every thing according to law; and I endeavour to remember his precepts. He avowed his marriage on his death-bed, made all due atonement to my respected and injured mother, and informed me in whose hands I should find this very certificate; I only obtained it this morning, which fact will account for its being in my pocket, at this melancholy and unexpected crisis, in my beloved uncle's constitution."