It was the merest chance, the shadow of a chance, for the lives of both young men were better than his own, inasmuch as both had led healthful and steadier lives than the dissipated Reginald Eversleigh. But even this poor chance was something.
"They may die," he thought; "death lurks in every bush that borders the highway of life. They or both may die, and I may regain the wealth that should have been mine."
He looked at the two young men. Lionel, the elder, was the handsomer of the two. He was fair, with brown curling hair, and frank blue eyes. Reginald, as he looked at him, thought bitterly, "I must indeed be the very fool of hope and credulity to fancy he will not marry. But, if he were safe, I should not so much fear Douglas." The younger, Douglas, was a man whom some people would have called plain. But the dark sallow face, with its irregular features, was illuminated by an expression of mingled intelligence and amiability, which possessed a charm for all judges worth pleasing.
Lionel was the clergyman, Douglas the lawyer, or rather law-student, for the glory of his maiden brief was yet to come.
How Reginald envied these fortunate kinsmen! He hated them with passionate hate. He looked from them to Honoria, the woman against whom he had plotted—the woman who triumphed in spite of him—for he could not imagine that grief for a dead husband could have any place in the heart of a woman who found herself mistress of such a domain as Raynham, and its dependencies.
Lady Eversleigh's astonishment was unbounded. This will placed her in even a loftier position than that which she had occupied when possessed of the confidence and affection of her husband. For her pride there was some consolation in this thought; but the triumph, which was sweet to the proud spirit, afforded no balm for the wounded heart. He was gone—he whose love had made her mistress of that wealth and splendour. He was gone from her for ever, and he had died believing her false.
In the midst of her triumph the widow bowed her head upon her hands, and sobbed convulsively. The tears wrung from her in this moment were the first she had shed that day, and they were very bitter.
Reginald Eversleigh watched her with scorn and hatred in his heart.
"What do you say now, Lionel?" he said to his cousin, when the three young men had left the dining-hall, and were seated at luncheon in a smaller chamber. "You did not think my respected aunt a clever actress when she fainted before the doors of the mausoleum. You will at least acknowledge that the piece of acting she favoured us with just now was superb."
"What do you mean by 'a piece of acting'?"