On the day succeeding the funeral the will was appointed to be read.
“Of course you will be present, Robert,” said Lewis, “you and your daughter. I need hardly say that I am entirely ignorant of the manner in which my uncle had seen fit to dispose of his property. I have reason, indeed, to think that he has made some small provision for me. But whatever may be the purport of the will which is to be read to-morrow, I pledge myself in advance to interpose no obstacle to its provisions.”
Perhaps he expected a similar declaration from Robert, but his cousin kept silence.
The next morning at ten o’clock the will was read. A small company was gathered in the library of the deceased. Lewis leaned his arm upon the table by which he sat, with a downcast look but a throbbing heart. One brief form more, and the object of his life would be attained.
The document was not a long one. After the usual introduction, the testator bequeathed all his property, real and personal, without reserve, to his dear nephew, Lewis Rand, for whom he cherished a strong affection.
There was a slight flush upon the face of Robert Ford, or Robert Rand, as we should now call him. It was not strange that he should display some emotion at being thus publicly ignored, and his birthright transferred to another. As he looked up, he thought he could detect a momentary gleam of exultation in the face of Lewis. But it was immediately repressed.
The lawyer, who had previously been made acquainted with the fact that Robert was a son of the deceased, looked surprised.
“Was this expected?” he asked. “How shall we account for no mention being made of your name,” addressing Robert, “as his son, and direct heir? such an omission is extraordinary.”
“My father,” said Robert, calmly, “was not aware of my existence. He had not seen me for many years, and had been led to believe me dead. It was only accidentally”—his glance rested for a moment on his cousin, who strove to look unconcerned—“that I was enabled to discover his residence in this city, and make myself known to him before he died.”
He was proud enough to wish to keep concealed the long estrangement between them, desiring to shield his father’s memory from any reproach which this omission might be thought to cast upon it.