The question was not without reason. John Treverton’s face was as white as his raiment, and the combined effect of the pale, haggard face and the long white coat was altogether spectral.
‘Flesh and blood, my dear Sampson, I assure you,’ replied the other coolly, as he divested himself of his mackintosh, and took up his stand in front of the comfortable fire, ‘flesh and blood frozen to the bone.’
‘I thought you were in the South of France.’
‘It doesn’t matter what you thought, you see I am here. Yesterday put me in legal possession of my cousin’s estate. I have come to execute the deed of settlement. It’s all ready of course?’
‘It’s ready, yes; but I didn’t think you’d be in such a hurry. I should have thought you would have stopped to finish your honeymoon.’
‘My honeymoon is of very little importance compared with my wife’s future welfare. Come, Sampson, look sharp. Who’s to witness my signature?’
‘My sister and one of the servants can do that.’
‘Call them in, then. I’m ready to sign.’
‘Hadn’t you better read the deed first?’
‘Well, yes, perhaps. One can’t be too careful. I want my wife’s position to be unassailable as the summit of Mount Everest. You have taken counsel’s opinion, and the deed will hold water?’