Alice, as she handed the prayer-book to Mr. Carter, stopped on her way back to Luther and squeezed Dr. Lavendar's hand. "Isn't it wonderful?" she whispered; and he shook his head a little impatiently.
"Go and sit down, my dear," he said.
Mr. Carter, glancing at the name on the flyleaf, looked at his notes again and then at Alice, "And this young lady—can she give me the date of her birth?"
There was a little laugh, and Luther and Alice gave it together, eagerly.
There were two or three more questions, and then Mr. Carter folded his memorandum and slipped it within its rubber band with a snap; then he smiled. Rebecca looked at him drearily. "Of course," he said, addressing himself to her, "a question of identity cannot be decided offhand; it is necessary to have certain affidavits which the surviving husband of the deceased (who is asserted to be the person in question) would be obliged, legally, to furnish. I think, however, that I am not going beyond the line of discretion and propriety if I say that if Mr. Robert Gray can produce such proofs (which I think I am not unwarranted in saying I believe he can)—if he can, then this young lady is the heir to a very considerable fortune. I think, in point of fact, I have the right to say that, if (as I have said before) these proofs are forthcoming, the amount to be paid to the daughter of Alys Winton is £5000."
Rebecca Gray put her hand to her mouth and stared blindly at the floor. Dr. Lavendar thrust out his lower lip and frowned. As for Alice, she laughed aloud, then burst out crying.
"Oh, Lute!" she said, tremulously; and, somehow, the two children found themselves holding hands. "It's—it's so much!" she faltered.
"Five thousand pounds is—is $25,000!" the boy said, turning pale. There was a pause; no one seemed to know just what to say. Then Lute, suddenly: "Is it your mother's father that left it to you, Alice?"
She turned to Mr. Carter, drawing in her breath like a child. "Is it?"
"Ah—no," he answered, briefly.