They stood looking at one another, Charles and Frank, with questioning eyes and dismayed faces. Could it be true? No, surely not. Street the lawyer, in spite of the boasted authenticity of his information, must have been misinformed.
So thought, so spoke Charles. "You see," cried he, "he speaks of it at first as only a rumour."
But Frank, in spite of his sanguine nature, regarded the information differently. He began looking at portions of the letter again, and did not answer.
"Can't you say something, Frank?"
"Charley, I fear it is true. Street would never have written this dismal news to your father whilst there was any doubt about it."
"But it has no right to be true; it ought not to be true," disputed Charley, in his terrible perplexity. "Who is George Atkinson that he should inherit Eagles' Nest? The fellow lives at the other end of the world. In Australia, or somewhere. Frank, it's not likely to be true. It would be frightful injustice; a cruel shame. It has been ours for twelve months: who will wrest it from us now?"
And truly, having enjoyed Eagles' Nest for all that time, regarding it as theirs, living at it in perfect security, it did appear most improbable that it should now pass away from them; almost an impossibility.
"Charley, we must keep this letter to ourselves until we know more. I am almost glad my uncle is ill; it would have shocked him so——"
"And how long will it be before we know more?" broke in Charles, who was in a humour for finding fault with every one, especially the lawyer. "Street ought to have come down, no matter at what inconvenience. A pretty state of suspense, this, to be placed in!"
"Drink your coffee, Charley."