No sooner had the valet departed than Reginald hurried from the castle, and walked across the garden to the gate by which he had encountered Victor Carrington on the previous day. He had no appointment with Victor, and did not even know if he were still in the neighbourhood; but he fancied it was just possible the surgeon might be waiting for him somewhere without the boundary of the garden.
He was not mistaken. A few minutes after passing through the gateway, he saw the figure of the pedlar approaching him under the shade of the spreading beeches.
"I am glad you are here," said Reginald; "I fancied I might find you somewhere hereabouts."
"And I have been waiting and watching about here for the last two hours. I dared not trust a messenger, and could only take my chance of seeing you."
"You have heard of—of—"
"I have heard everything, I believe."
"What does it mean, Victor?—what does it all mean?"
"It means that you are a wonderfully lucky fellow; and that, instead of waiting thirty years to see your uncle grow a semi-idiotic old dotard, you will step at once into one of the finest estates in England."
"You knew, then, that the will was made last night?"
"Well, I guessed as much."