"With him: at Trevlyn Hold."
Mrs. Ryle could scarcely speak from amazement. "I never heard of such a thing!" she exclaimed, staring excessively at the smile hovering on his lips, which he vainly endeavoured to suppress. "What can it mean?"
"It is assured, unhappily, that Rupert cannot live. Had he regained health and strength, he would have filled this place. But he will not regain it. Squire Trevlyn spoke to me, and I am to be with him at the Hold."
George did not add that he at first fought with Squire Trevlyn against going to the Hold, as its heir—for indeed it meant nothing less. He would rather make his own fortune than have it made for him, he said. Very well, the Squire answered equably, he could give up the Hold if he liked, but he must give up Maude with it. And you may guess whether George would do that.
But Mrs. Ryle did not recover from her surprise or see things clearly. "Of course, I can understand that Rupert Trevlyn would have held sway on the estate, just as a son would; but what my brother can mean by wanting a 'manager' I cannot understand. You say you are to live at Trevlyn Hold?"
The smile grew very conspicuous on George's lips. "It is so arranged," he answered. "And therefore I no longer wish to rent the Upland."
Mrs. Ryle stared as if she did not believe it. She fell into deep thought—from which she suddenly started, put on her bonnet, and went straight to Trevlyn Hold.
A pretty little mare's nest she indulged in as she went along. If Rupert was to be called away from this world, the only fit and proper person to succeed him as the Squire's heir was her son Treve. In which case, George would not be required as manager, and their anticipated positions might be reversed; Treve take up his abode at the Hold, George remain at the farm.
Squire Trevlyn was alone. She gave herself no time to reconsider the propriety of speaking at all, or what she should say; but without circumlocution told him that, failing Rupert, Trevlyn must be the heir.
"Oh, dear, no," said the Squire. "You forget Maude."