Young Marshall looked anxiously at the lawyer.
“Is that the law, sir?”
“It is the law of Virginia,” said Lewis, “that a will by a competent testator, drawn in form, requires no collateral explanation to support it.”
My father seemed brought up in a cul-de-sac. His face was tense and disturbed. He stood by the table; and now, as by accident, he put out his hand and took up the Japanese crystal supported by the necks of the three bronze storks. He appeared unconscious of the act, for he was in deep reflection. Then, as though the weight in his hand drew his attention, he glanced at the thing. Something about it struck him, for his manner changed. He spread the will out on the table and began to move the crystal over it, his face close to the glass. Presently his hand stopped, and he stood stooped over, staring into the Oriental crystal, like those practicers of black art who predict events from what they pretend to see in these spheres of glass.
Mr. Gosford, sitting at his ease, in victory, regarded my father with a supercilious, ironical smile.
“Sir,” he said, “are you, by chance, a fortuneteller?”
“A misfortune-teller,” replied my father, his face still held above the crystal. “I see here a misfortune to Mr. Anthony Gosford. I predict, from what I see, that he will release this bequest of moneys to Peyton Marshall's son.”
“Your prediction, sir,” said Gosford, in a harder note, “is not likely to come true.”
“Why, yes,” replied my father, “it is certain to come true. I see it very clearly. Mr. Gosford will write out a release, under his hand and seal, and go quietly out of Virginia, and Peyton Marshall's son will take his entire estate.”
“Sir,” said the Englishman, now provoked into a temper, “do you enjoy this foolery?”