"O dear no. It never was left to him until this last was made."
"Was I--were we--was it ever left to us?" asked the poor clergyman, tremblingly.
"Yes it was," replied Mr. Wedderburn. "I don't see why I should not avow it. It can't make any difference, one way or the other. In the first will she ever made after Sir John's death it was left to you. And in the last will preceding this, it was again left to you. Once it was left"--the lawyer looked towards the window--"to Mr. Oswald Cray."
Oswald gave his shoulders a haughty shrug. "I should never have accepted the legacy," he said in a distinct, deliberate tone. "I had no claim whatever to Lady Oswald's money, and should not have taken it."
Henry Oswald laughed; a pleasant, cordial laugh, as he turned to Oswald. "You don't know, Mr. Oswald Cray. We are all so ready to be chivalrous in theory: but when it comes to practice--the best of us are apt to fall off."
"True," quietly remarked Oswald: but he did not pursue the theme.
There was nothing more to be said or done then. Of what profit to remain talking of the wills that had been, while the present one was before them and must be put in force? Sir Philip made the first move; he went out, taking a formal leave; Henry Oswald with a more cordial one. Oswald Cray was the next to leave. He shook hands with the brothers, and spoke a few kind words of sympathy for their disappointment.
"It is the disappointment of a life," replied the clergyman in a low tone. "Our struggle has been continued long; and we had--there's no denying it--looked forward to this. It is a hard trial when relatives find themselves passed over for strangers."
"It is, it is;" said Oswald Cray. "I could wish Lady Oswald had been more mindful of legitimate claims."
As he was going out, Parkins waylaid him in her new mourning. "There will be a dinner ready at five o'clock, sir. Would you be pleased to stay for it?"