Between Beatrice and Lawyer Russell there had been a private talk concerning the will which so much troubled Bee, and the lawyer had inclined to the belief that there was none of recent date, or he should have known it. He would look, however, he said, as he had a key to the judge’s private desk in the office. He had looked, and to his surprise had found a will, which must have been made the very day before the judge’s sickness, and during his own absence from the office. This he communicated to Beatrice, and with her remained at the Forrest House to dinner for the purpose of making the fact known to Everard as soon as possible. As for Everard, he had not thought of a will, or indeed of anything, except in a confused, general kind of way, that he was, of course, his father’s natural heir, and that now Josephine must come there as his wife, and from that he shrank with a feeling amounting to actual pain; and he was not a little surprised when, after dinner was over, and they had returned to the long parlor, Lawyer Russell, as the old and particular friend of the family, said to him, “I found in looking over your father’s papers a will, and as it was inclosed in an envelope directed to me, I took charge of it, and have it with me now. Shall I read it aloud, or give it to you?”
“A will!” Everard said, and a deep flush spread itself over his face as if he dimly felt the coming blow which was to strike him with such force. “Did father leave a will? I never supposed he made one. Read it aloud, of course. These are all my friends,” and he glanced at the clergyman and his wife, and Beatrice and Rossie, the only people present.
The two girls were sitting side by side on a low sofa, and opposite them was Everard, looking very pale and nervous as he bent forward a little to listen to the will. It was made the day before the judge’s illness, and was duly drawn up and witnessed by Parker and Merritt, the two students in the office, and after mentioning a few thousands which were to be given to different individuals and charities, the judge went on: “the remainder of my estate, both real and personal, I give, bequeath, and devise to the girl, Rosamond Hastings, and——”
Lawyer Russell got no further, for there was a low cry from Rossie as she sprang to her feet, and crossed swiftly to Everard’s side. He, too, had risen, and with clasped hands was gazing fixedly at the lawyer, like one listening to his death-warrant.
“What did he say, Mr. Everard, about me? What does it mean?” Rossie asked, laying both hands on Everard’s arm, and drawing his attention to herself.
“It means that my father disinherited me, and made you his heir,” Everard answered her, a little bitterly, while she continued:
“It is not so. It does not read that way. There is some mistake;” and before the lawyer was aware of her intention she snatched the paper from him, and ran her eye with lightning rapidity over what was written on it, comprehending as she read that what she had heard was true.
Everard was disinherited, and she was the heiress of all the Forrest estate. Her first impulse was to tear the paper in pieces, but Everard caught her hands as she was in the act of rending it asunder, and said:
“Rossie, you must not do that. The will will stand just as my father meant it should.”
Rossie’s face was a study as she lifted it toward Everard, pale as death, with a firm, set look about the mouth, and an expression in her large black eyes such as the Cenci’s might have worn when upon the rack.