“I would rather not tell papa to-day. I would like him first to have heard about Horace. You are free to tell him, I suppose?”
“Yes, Horace has empowered me to do so,” he replied, “and there is no reason for delay. I will ask him to see me to-morrow morning, and then,”—he looked at her interrogatively.
“Then I suppose I had better tell him my story?” said Frances. “Though I should like, if possible, to hear in the first place the result of your talk with him.”
“That can easily be managed,” he answered. “I will write to you as soon as possible after seeing your father.”
“Thank you,” said Frances.
They strolled slowly down the churchyard path: the subject of her discovery was still prominent in the girl’s mind.
“Mr Morion,” she began again abruptly. “I cannot help saying what can have been the poor old lady’s motive in acting so inconsistently? Just think of all it has caused! No wonder her spirit has not been able to rest,”—with a half-smile—“if it is really the case that any supernatural influence has been exerted upon us!”
Ryder did not show any sign of making light of the supposition.
“It will be curious to notice,” he said, “if these strange experiences, which I own I can’t explain, come to an end now that she has at least vindicated her intention of acting up to her promise. It almost seems as if she had been under some fear of the elder of the two cousins—my forbear! Perhaps she meant to leave the will in its hiding-place till the very last, and then have it brought to her for signature, when no anger could fall upon herself. And she may have died too suddenly to carry this out.”
“It looks like it,” said Frances. “But no one will ever know fully.”