"That is precisely how the will stands, Mr. O'Brien," said Debenham, in his extremely refined English voice, "and as all the inheritors, with the exception of yourself, are much under age, nothing whatsoever can be done to alter it until your youngest child comes of age. Now I drew up this will for the late Mrs. O'Brien. She was most sincere in her wish at the time that you and yours should share her wealth with her own two daughters. The fact is, the late Mostyn was old enough to be her father. He was a city merchant and made his pile, although it amounted to nothing like what he would have made, had he not been suddenly stricken down by apoplexy. His wife and he led a cat-and-dog life together, and I think his death was a great relief to the poor woman. Anyhow, be that as it may, Mr. O'Brien, you can part with your share of the property if you like, but the portions set aside for the children cannot possibly be interfered with. I and my partner are trustees for the children's share of the property, and I shall provide them with ample means, which the will allows for their education, until they each come of age; more I cannot do. They will each be fairly well off, and I should strongly advise you, Mr. O'Brien, to take your own share and make no bones about it. The whole thing seems to me to be an interposition of Providence to prevent an angry and irresponsible woman from carrying out her designs. You will all be comfortably off, and I think if she could speak to you now, she would beg of you not to make your family unhappy by refusing to receive your share of the profits. After all, Mr. O'Brien, it was you she loved when she made the will. She did not know the children."
"God help me!" said Mr. O'Brien. "Poor Constance, I never understood her! If you really think it would please her, sirs——"
"Please her—naturally it would please her!" said O'More.
"And I shall not require it long," continued the Rector, who little guessed on that sorrowful day that he was to become quite well once more.
"There is a provision made for that in the will, sir," said Mr. Debenham, "which gives your share in equal proportions to the six children, so I do not see how in any case you can touch it or interfere with it. That's a fine boy of yours," continued Debenham. "I rather guess that he will make money of his own, and not require any help from any one."
All these things happened while Maureen was ill, and she naturally knew nothing about them, and nothing whatever about the little fortune which had been left her by step-auntie; but as the days flew on, and April followed March and May followed April, more and more deeply did Colonel Herbert hate that will, for if it were not in existence he would simply force O'Brien to give him Maureen to be his forever, to share his money, his love, and his home.
How it so happened that while the Rector was coming by leaps and bounds back again to life and health, two girls at school were mourning not so much for their mother, who, as a matter of fact, they did not like, but because they were not the heiresses they had hitherto called themselves to their schoolfellows.
Mr. Debenham called to see these girls, one day, at their showy school near Dublin. They were like each other, and painfully like the dead woman. The lawyer could not help uttering a quick sigh when he saw them. Henrietta was the taller and stronger of the two. She was what might be described as a "bouncing young maid," very much developed in figure, with her mother's fiery blue eyes and her mother's auburn hair which tended to red. That hair was all fluffy and curly and untidy about her head. She was not a pretty girl; she had too many freckles for that; and her nose had a little tilt up at the end, which gave to Henrietta Mostyn a particularly impertinent appearance. Daisy was very like her sister, but with a difference; her eyes were smaller and closer together, she had a cunning look about her, and her hair was of a flaxen shade without a touch of gold in it. Her eyebrows were the same colour as her hair, and her eyelashes were white. She was altogether the sort of girl whom you would rather not know, for there was a cunning, deceitful expression about her face, which no effort on her part could conceal.
"Well, so we are robbed," said Henrietta. "Poor mumsie-pumsie went to smash, and we are robbed. That's a nice look-out. Of course, you'll manage, Mr. Debenham, that those horrid O'Briens don't get our money."
"They shan't get your money, Miss Mostyn," said the lawyer, "but they'll get their own."