* * * * * *
The errand of the gentleman in the gig to the lady at the Moat House was not a pleasant one. He knew that he must look very like a deputy tyrant, and she like an innocent victim, and it required a wonderful amount of coolness and self-possession to face the gaze of pained inquiry which met the first unfolding of his mission.
"How lovely she is still," thought Mr. Penacre; "I wish my client had written direct, instead of thrusting his ugly errand upon me."
But, to his credit, he executed it with as much courtesy as it permitted, trying to veil the abominations of pride, malice, and covetousness, beneath professional technicalities, providential circumstances, and naturalization in a foreign land.
But threading her way through the maze and gloss of an eloquent peroration, Mrs. Falconer traced at last the real core of its meaning.
"Then I am to understand," said she calmly, "that the Moat House is to pass into other hands, and is no longer my home, or that of my children?"
"I regret to say that your view of the matter is correct, madam," replied the attorney bowing.
"But my son is presumptive heir, unless Mr. Geoffry Falconer were to have a son," said she thoughtfully.
"Not now, madam. I thought I had explained that the entail is cut off by a deed legally executed by the owner and his heir, old Mr. Falconer and his son Mr. Geoffry. This enables them to sell the estate."
"And is there no charge upon it on my late husband's behalf, sir?" asked the lady. "His father had appropriated a large sum due to him, and now of course due to his widow and children."