In the month of August Lord Roxhall, who was at Arcachon with his wife, ostensibly for health, in reality to cut short the expenses of a season in town, received amongst his correspondence a letter in a black-edged envelope addressed in a clear firm handwriting which was unknown to him, and bearing the postmark of his own country town, that town which William Massarene’s funeral had recently passed through in such pomp and glory.
The letter astonished him, and he read it twice, incredulous of its meaning and wondering vaguely if it were genuine.
It was dated from Vale Royal and worded thus:
“My dear Lord Roxhall,
“Pardon me that I have not earlier replied to your very kind letter of condolence on the terrible death of my father. Under his will I unfortunately become sole owner of all he possessed. He purchased this estate of Vale Royal of you, and I inherit it with the rest. I do not think we have done any harm here; we have perhaps done some material good, but the people on the estate dislike us and despise us. I quite understand and do not blame their feeling. I like and respect it. They are as faithful to you as Highlanders to Charles Edward. I cannot remain here, for neither my mother nor I care to reside amongst a justly disaffected population. My poor father bought your estate at a fair price no doubt; but it will never be morally or righteously ours. There are some things of which no amount of money can legalize the sale to a sensitive conscience. Will you do me a favor? Will you buy it back? I should only require half the purchase-money, and should be much obliged to you to let the other half remain on mortgage on the estate. I believe the value of land is decreased since he bought it, and of course you would have a valuation taken. Or I should be happy to comply with any other conditions which might be more suitable to you. In any way if you will take it off my hands as soon as the law permits me to dispose of it, I shall be greatly indebted and relieved of a heavy burden; for no one can do any good on a property where all the occupants of the soil are their enemies. So entirely is my mother, as well as myself, convinced of this fact that we shall leave the place, never to return to it, in a few days’ time, and the house will remain closed. I hope that you will before long go back to it.
“I remain, sincerely yours,
“Katherine Massarene.”
He was breakfasting under the pine trees, his wife was opposite to him at a small round table. The letter astonished him and affected him, he discerned the generosity which was ill-concealed under its effort to make the offer seem to the advantage of the writer. When he had pondered over it for some minutes he passed it over the table to his companion.
“She would give it to us if she dared,” he said as his wife took it. She read it quickly at a glance, as women do read, and looked up, the color rising in her face, her eyes radiant with hope.
“Oh, Gerald! Can you do it?”
“Do you care so much?” said Roxhall; his own voice was unsteady.