"I have just come from the Homes. You know whom I mean? Their little boy was the one I helped to nurse through scarlet fever. Mother and boy have come back from Torquay like different creatures from the pleasant change. Mrs. Home looked absolutely bright. Charlotte will like to hear of her; and by the way, a curious thing, a little bit of a romance has happened to her. An uncle from Australia, whom she had supposed to be dead and in his grave for over twenty years, walked in alive and hale last night. She did not know him at first, but he managed to prove his identity. He——good heavens! Mr. Harman, what is the matter? You are ill; come in here."
Hinton led Jasper into a chemist's shop, which they happened to be passing at the moment, for his ruddy face had suddenly become ghastly white, and he had to clutch the young man's arm to keep himself from falling.
"It is nothing," he explained, when he had been given a restorative. "Yes, I felt faint. I hope I am not going to be taken bad like my brother. What do you say? a hansom? Well, yes, perhaps I had better have one."
Jasper was bowled rapidly out of sight and Hinton walked on. No dust had been thrown in his eyes as to the cause of Jasper's agitation. He had observed the start of almost terror with which he had turned on him when he had first mentioned the long-lost Australian uncle of Mrs. Home's. He had often seen how uneasy he was, however cleverly he tried to hide it, when the Homes were mentioned. What did it all mean? Hinton felt very uncomfortable. Much as he loved Charlotte, it was not nice to marry into a family who kept concealed an ugly secret. Hinton was more and more convinced that there was a secret, and that this uncle who was supposed to be dead was in some way connected with it. Hinton was too acute, too clever, to put down Jasper's agitation to any other cause. Instantly he began to see a reason for Mrs. Home's joy in the recovery of this long-lost relation. It was a reason unworthy of her, unworthy and untrue; but nevertheless it took possession of the mind of this young man. The uncle ceased to be an object of little interest to him. He walked on, feeling downcast and perplexed. This day week would be his wedding-day, and Charlotte—Charlotte, beautiful and noble, nothing should part them. But what was this secret? Could he, dare he, fathom it? No, because of Charlotte he must not—it would break Charlotte's heart; because of Charlotte's father he must not, for it would cause his death; and yet, because of Jasper, he longed to, for he owned to himself that he disliked Jasper more and more.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE READING OF THE WILL.
Charlotte's depression did not remain with her all through the day. She was a healthy creature, healthy both in body and mind. It was impossible for her, with the bright spring sun shining, and with her wedding-day but one week absent, not to turn again to hope. She saw that she had vexed Hinton. She still felt that queer and uncomfortable desire to be at Somerset House, just at the very hour when her lover had pleaded for her society. But she reflected that when she told him the story, when she proudly cleared her father in his eyes, he would most abundantly forgive her.
"He hates secrets," she said to herself; "and it is the last, the very last, little, tiny secret I shall ever have from my darling."
By this it will be seen that she had ceased to fear her grandfather's will. She had ordered the carriage immediately after lunch, and now asked the coachman to drive to the Strand. As she lay back at her ease she reflected how soon now her anxiety would be over.