At the sound of these familiar words, and the suppressed vehemence with which they were spoken, Matilda for the moment came to herself. She looked round, and saw the wondering faces turned towards her. She saw suddenly that she had abandoned her consigne, and had got into deep waters, which she could not fathom; and with a certain natural cunning, which her sister blessed, she suddenly fell a crying in her excitement. Then Verna began to breathe; the ball was again in her hands.
“Poor Charlie was very anxious about his wife and his children before he died,” she said, “as was very natural, for he did not know if his father would approve of his coming home. He had not anything to leave, poor fellow, but he made his will. Here it is. It was partly his doing and partly mine, as my sister says. I brought it in case it should be wanted. Whatever Tommy—I mean the children—may have, he made her their guardian. My sister is very excitable”—Here Verna paused, as if forced to make some explanation. “She was afraid there would be nothing for the children. The revulsion has been too much——”
“Mrs. Charles seems, I think, quite able to speak for herself,” said Mr. Smeaton. “This is the will of Charles Heriot, dated at sea, the 21st March. It’s worth very little, I may tell you. It is quite informal. If the family choose to accept and act upon it, I have nothing to say; but otherwise it is good for nothing. It leaves everything of which he dies possessed to his widow, and appoints her and his uncle, Charles Hay-Heriot, of George Square, Edinburgh, the guardians of his children. That’s so far well; it is a judicious appointment enough—- unless,” stooping his head, and speaking lower, he added, “unless the family think it proper to dispute it, when it is a simple piece of waste paper. It all depends upon what you think, ay or no.”
There was a pause. Matilda’s interposition had made a painful impression upon Uncle Charles.
“What could we do?” he said, in an undertone.
“You could dispute this, and have guardians appointed by the court,” said Mr. Smeaton. “But as you’re named, and all’s right otherwise, I do not see much reason why——”
Matilda heard this low conversation, but she did not know what it was about. She thought, like every narrow intelligence, that what she did not understand must be against her. And her feelings overcame her prudence and her awe of Verna.
“What are you all talking about?” she said, vehemently, sitting up quite upright in the chair which she had been reclining in. “What are you doing, plotting and scheming against my boy? You cannot take his birthright from him. Do you think I will stay quiet, as Verna tells me. Verna, hold your tongue, it is I that am the mistress, when my Charlie’s will is being torn up, and our estate taken from us. No, I will not stay quiet. We must have our rights.”
“Do not mind her, gentlemen,” said Verna, piteously. “She is excited; she is never like this when she understands. Matilda, dear, no one is thinking of wronging you. It was this gentleman who explained how things are. They will appoint another guardian, and take away your authority, if you don’t mind. Be quiet, or they will take away your freedom. Matty! if they see you are excited and so forth, they will not let you have any of the power. Do you hear what I say? They cannot wrong you, but they will make you a slave; they will take away all your power.”
This was said in a passionate whisper, close to Matilda’s ear, who gazed at the speaker, open-eyed, first defiant, then gradually yielding.