Anne Hereford: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

Mr. Edwin Barley had made over to me the amount of money left by Selina, with the full interest thereon at five per cent, up to the present date. He frankly stated that the mystery of the lost will had now been cleared up: it had been (contrary to his own opinion) abstracted, and, as he found, burnt. He did not give any hint as to the culprit; with all his sins, he was too much of a gentleman to do that: I could acknowledge it now that my prejudices were partially removed: but we felt sure (and knew it later) that it was Charlotte Delves. This money he had caused to be settled on me to my exclusive use and benefit. He informed Sir Harry that the first instalment of the half-yearly interest was waiting to be drawn by me.

"So you are an heiress, after all," said Sir Harry, laughing. "You can buy your wedding dress."

But I did not laugh. I was thinking how I had misjudged Mr. Edwin Barley. I had thought him so hard and unjust a man! Hard, he might be: but strictly just.

"I should like to write and thank him."

"Certainly. Write when you like, and what you like. I shall answer his letter. It contains something more, that I have not shown you."

"Am I not to see it?"

For answer Sir Harry folded the letter back, and placed a postscript before me. It seemed to me more amazing than the other.

"Should my niece, Anne Hereford, find herself less happy as Lady Chandos—your wife—than she expects to be, and wish for a refuge, my house will be open to her. If she enters it, whether in the present year or in those long to come, she will be treated in every way as my own child; and be very amply provided for at my death."

"Do you expect you will require a refuge?"

His eyes were gleaming with merriment as he spoke it—a whole lifetime of loving affection in their depths. If mine unconsciously looked back their great and tender trust, it was not my fault. But a vision of sometime meeting Edwin Barley and thanking him for this new kindness; of making some little atonement for my past hatred, so far as words of gratitude could atone, rose within me as a vision.