The poor woman's trembling voice evinced a deep compassion for herself, which Gertrude could not help sharing; and she expressed a willingness to comply with her wishes as far as was in her power, at the same time declaring her utter ignorance of all the forms of law.
To Gertrude's astonishment, Miss Patty announced a perfect acquaintance with all the legal knowledge which the case demanded; and in so complete a manner did she dictate the words of the important instrument that, being afterwards properly witnessed, signed, and sealed, it was found in a few months—at which time Miss Patty died—free from imperfection and flaw, and proved a satisfactory direction for the disposal of the inheritance.
It may be as well to state here, however, that he who was pronounced sole heir to the valuable property never availed himself of the bequest, otherwise than to make a careful bestowal of it among her relatives. The solo inheritor of her estate was William Sullivan, the knight of the rosy countenance, who with chivalrous spirit captivated Miss Patty's virgin heart, and gained her lasting favour. But that chivalrous spirit accepted not a reward so disproportioned to the slight service he had rendered the old lady.
Gertrude found it no easy task to gather and transfix in writing the exact idea which the old woman's rambling dictation was intended to convey; and it was two or three hours before the manuscript was completed.
The sky was overcast, and a drizzling rain began to fall, as she walked home; but the distance was not great, and the only damage she sustained was a slight dampness to her garments. Emily perceived it, and said, "Your dress is quite wet, you must sit by the parlour fire. I shall not go down until tea-time, but father is there, and will be glad of your company; he has been alone all the afternoon."
Gertrude found Mr. Graham sitting in front of a pleasant wood fire, half-dozing, half-reading. She took a book and a low chair and joined him. But to avoid the heat she went to the sofa. Soon there was a ring at the front door bell. The housemaid, who was passing by the door, opened it, and immediately ushered in a visitor. It was Willie!
Gertrude rose, but trembling from head to foot, so that she dared not trust herself to take a step forward. Willie advanced to the centre of the room, looked at Gertrude, bowed, hesitated, and said, "Miss Flint!—is she here?" The colour rushed into Gertrude's face. She attempted to speak, but failed. It was not necessary. The blush was enough. Willie recognised her, and starting forward, eagerly seized her hand.
"Gerty! is it possible?"
The perfect naturalness and ease of his manner, the warmth with which he took and retained her hand, reassured the agitated girl. The spell seemed partially removed. For a moment he became in her eyes the Willie of old, her dear friend and playmate, and she found voice to exclaim, "Oh, Willie, you have come at last! I am so glad to see you!" The sound of their voices disturbed Mr. Graham, who had fallen into a nap. He turned round in his easy chair, then rose. Willie dropped Gertrude's hand and stepped towards him. "Mr. Sullivan," said Gertrude, with a feeble attempt at a suitable introduction.
They shook hands, and then all three sat down.