Mrs. Lovel was becoming reconciled to her tower chamber. Ghostly as it appeared, no ghosts had visited her there; on the contrary, she had slept soundly; and as the days wore on and she found the quiet, simple life at Avonsyde soothing to her perturbed nerves and restoring vigor to her somewhat feeble frame, she came to the conclusion that the tower was a particularly healthy place to sleep in, and that some of the superabundant vigor which characterized Miss Griselda must be owing to the splendid air which night after night she inhaled in her lofty chamber.
As soon as ever this idea took possession of Mrs. Lovel’s mind, she would not have changed her ancient tower bedroom for the most modern and luxurious which Avonsyde could offer.
A thought—a pleasing thought—came ever and anon to the poor lady as she watched her boy’s peaceful face when he lay asleep on his little white bed.
“Suppose the healthy air of the tower makes Philip strong?”
Philip had been for some months at Avonsyde, and no one yet had found out that he possessed any special delicacy. At first the pallor of his little face had been commented on; but people soon got accustomed to this, and the boy was so merry, so good-humored, so brave, that those who watched him would have found it difficult to associate any special weakness with such lithe and agile movements, with so gay a spirit, with so merry and ringing a laugh. Miss Griselda had begun by declaring, both in her sister’s presence and also in that of Philip’s mother, that no decisive step could be taken until a doctor had thoroughly examined the boy; but of late she had ceased to speak of any doctor, and had nodded her head in an approving manner when Phil had sung out to her from the tops of the tallest trees, or had galloped panting and laughing to her side on his rough forest pony. Miss Katharine said many times to her sister:
“Surely we need make no delay. There seems no doubt that the boy can absolutely trace his succession from Rupert Lovel. Why should we waste money, Griselda, in inserting that advertisement any more in the newspapers when we have found our heir?”
Miss Lovel, however, was not to be unduly hurried in so momentous a matter.
“We cannot be too careful, Katharine. Yes, we will insert the advertisement once or twice again. It was only yesterday I heard from Mr. Baring that some fresh claimants are writing to him through their lawyers. There is no hurry whatever, and we cannot be too careful.”
Perhaps Miss Katharine took it rather too much as a matter of course that Phil could trace his descent, without flaw, from the Rupert Lovel who had quarreled with his father long ago. She was so accustomed to hearing Mrs. Lovel say, “I have got all the proofs; I can trace the descent without a single break for you at any time,” that she began to believe she had gone through the genealogical tree, and had seen with her own eyes that the child was the lineal descendant of the elder branch of her house.
Miss Griselda was far sharper than her sister. Miss Griselda knew perfectly that Phil’s descent was not yet proved, but, unlike most old ladies in her position, she disliked genealogy. She said openly that it puzzled her, and on one occasion when Mrs. Lovel, in her half-timid, half-fretful voice, said, “Shall I bring you the proofs of Phil’s descent now? Are you at leisure to look into the matter to-day?” Miss Griselda replied somewhat sharply: