“I don’t want you to, father. I agree with you that she had better go. Now let me tell you, in as few words as I can, what I intend to propose to Katharine and to Mrs. Lovel, with your sanction, presently. The children must stay at Avonsyde. If the heir is never found, well and good; they are provided for. If, on the other hand, the heir turns up, they are, according to the present conditions of your will, absolutely penniless. Now I don’t choose this. Valentine’s children must be provided for under any emergency, and you must make a fresh codicil to your will.”
“I will not!”
“Father, you must. Valentine was your own son; these children are your rightful and legitimate heirs. I am heart and soul with you in your wish to find the lawful descendant of Rupert Lovel—I promise to devote my life to this search; but Valentine’s children must not go penniless. You must make a codicil to your will providing comfortably for them in case the lawful heir turns up.”
“How can I? The doctor says I have not many hours to live.”
“Long enough for that, no doubt. We cannot, unfortunately, send for Mr. Baring from London, but I will send a man on horseback to Southampton, and Mr. Terry, the Barings’ country partner, will be here in two or three hours.”
“I tell you I have only a few hours to live,” repeated the squire, sinking his head lower on his chest and looking daggers at his daughter.
“Long enough for that,” she repeated.
She rose from her seat and went across the room to ring the bell. When the servant entered the room she gave some very clear and emphatic directions, and then desiring the nurse who waited on her father to be summoned, she left the room.
Her interview had scarcely been a peaceable one, and as she went downstairs her usually calm expression was considerably disturbed.
“I can make terms with the mother now,” she murmured. “But I am not going even to tell my father what they are.” And she went downstairs.