That morn my grandfather and my uncle were borne out from Craike House to be laid in the grim vault which the old man had directed to be built for himself and his sons, nigh the village church where lay the bones of so many of our kin. Above the church the cliffs rose high; here he had set his rock-built tomb in the sound of the sea, and in the track of the winds from the sea; and he had placed upon its side a broad tablet of bronze, bearing the design of a ship amid great waters. All through the burial service I heard the beat of the seas on the cliff; I thought of seas and sea winds sounding through his sleep till Judgment Day.
Now if I could feel for my grandfather no love, or sorrow, I had before me always the recollection of him as he had faced the rogues and saved me out of their hands, and of the power of the will which had triumphed for the time over decay of mind and body; kindled old fires in him, and conjured up odd strength,—to break and end in death.
But on my return with my father, Oliver, and Mr. Bradbury to Craike House, my thoughts were diverted instantly to the arrival of my good mother in Mr. Bradbury’s coach. I sped down the steps to welcome her; I caught her in my arms as she descended from the coach; I led her, trembling and tearful, to the doorway where my father stood. And so I left them, and did not again approach them, till we must assemble for the reading of my grandfather’s will.
We assembled in the dining-hall; my mother seated hand in hand with my father; my cousin Oliver, dark and sullen to all seeming as ever; the girl Evelyn Milne,—into whose cheeks these past few days colour had seemed to steal, as light into her eyes. Mr. Bradbury, taking my grandfather’s chair, would have me sit by him. The change upon the house was surely marked by the windows opened wide to the light of day. The sunlight played into the room, with sweet air scented from the flowers in the garden.
Mr. Bradbury, breaking the seals of the will, spread the parchment out before him; cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles. But ere he read, he said quietly, looking at my father, “My dear sir, before I read, I’d say this to you: that had you come to Craike but a few hours earlier, this will had never borne the signature of my lamented client, Mr. Edward Craike. I do assure you, sir, your father had for you a strong affection; indeed, I feel that you alone—save in the past few weeks, your son—were dear to him.”
My father bowed his head. “I do not question—I shall never question,” he said, “my father’s affection for me. Pray, sir, proceed.”
“If you had come, sir,” Mr. Bradbury went on, “you must have inherited not only Craike House and its lands, but your father’s fortune—by no means represented in the contents of that strange box—the precious stones which Mr. Edward Craike, from some eccentricity of his own, would have by him always, and which, indeed, resulted from certain—ahem—trading ventures conducted by him personally abroad—would surely have passed in its entirety to you. I say this, knowing your father’s affection for you, Richard. Such a will was framed by me before you left Craike House for London; the will was revoked by my lamented client only when you had disappeared from England, and by no investigation could we ascertain whether you were alive or dead. The second will divided my client’s fortune between you and your brother Charles; your father was at no time assured in his own mind that you were dead; a certain resentment—inevitable resentment, I fear—that you should have deserted him wholly, dictated this later disposition of his estate. Under that will, the death of either of his sons, if proved, would have left the other sole heir to Mr. Edward Craike; and on his father’s death possessor of a fortune representing in money, in East India stock and such, and in these jewels, of not less, I should say, than two hundred thousand pounds. But Mr. Craike grew to suspect the circumstances in which the disappearance, if not the death, of his elder son had taken place.”
Mr. Bradbury paused to clear his throat, and took up the will.
“A few weeks since Mr. Edward Craike had no knowledge that his elder son had married. I myself had the supreme satisfaction of meeting Mr. John Craike at Chelton—recognising him immediately from his likeness to you, Richard—and of presenting him to Mr. Edward Craike as his grandson. Ere I left the house on his reception—favourable reception—of Mr. John, Mr. Craike had directed me to prepare a fresh will—this will—in the terms I am about to disclose to you. He desired that his grandson should remain in this house for a month, so that he might acquaint himself with him and judge his fitness to enjoy the benefits which he then contemplated bestowing on him. Mr. John Craike was happy in commending himself to his grandfather’s favour. For this will, signed, witnessed, and sealed on the night of Mr. Edward Craike’s death, revokes all previous wills, and leaves Mr. John Craike in possession of his grandfather’s entire fortune—Craike House and lands alone passing, to be sure, in the natural order of inheritance, to you, Mr. Richard.”
And though I gasped, and my mother cried out, and my father leaned forward to clasp my hand, Mr. Bradbury proceeded to read deliberately and with an obvious appreciation of legal phrases as of dry wine. “Mr. John Craike,” said Mr. Bradbury, laying down the parchment at last, “I have the honour and the happiness to congratulate you,” and shook hands with me, bowed, and sought his snuff-box.