‘Well, what have you to say?’
‘Papa! I’ve been thinking that as the money laid by for Eve is gone for ever, and as my aunt has left me a little more than sixteen hundred pounds, you ought to give Morwell to Eve—that is, for the rest of your term of it, some sixty-three years, I think. If you like to make a little charge on it for me, do so, but do not let it be much. I shall not require much to make me happy. I shall never marry. If I had a good deal of money it is possible some man would be base enough to want to marry me for it; but if I have only a little, no one will think of asking me. There is no one whom I care for whom I would dream of taking—under no circumstances—nothing would move me to it—nothing. And as an old maid, what could I do with this property? Eve must marry. Indeed, she can have almost anyone she likes. I do not think she cares for the doctor, but there must be some young squire about here who would suit her.’
‘Yes, Barbara, you are right.’
‘I am glad you think so,’ she said, smiled, and coloured, pleased with his commendation, so rarely won. ‘No one can see Eve without loving her. I have my little scheme. Captain Cloberry is coming home from the army this ensuing autumn, and if he is as nice as his sisters say—then something may come of it. But I do not know whether Eve cares or does not care for Mr. Coyshe. He has not spoken to her yet. I think, papa, it would be well to let him and everyone know that Morwell is not to come to me, but is to go to Eve. Then everyone will know what to expect.
‘It shall be so. If Mr. Knighton comes, I will get the doctor to be in the room when I make my will, and Jasper Babb also.’ He considered for a while, and then said, ‘In spite of all—there is good in you, Barbara. I forgive you my wound. There—you may kiss me.’
As Barbara wished, and Mr. Jordan intended, so was the will executed. Mr. Knighton, the solicitor, arrived at the same time as the surgeon; he waited till Mr. Coyshe had bandaged up the wound, and then he entered the sick man’s room, summoned by Barbara.
‘My second daughter,’ said Mr. Jordan, ‘is, in the eye of the law, illegitimate. My elder daughter has urged me to do what I likewise feel to be right—to leave my title to Morwell estate to Eve.’
‘What is her surname—I mean her mother’s name?’
‘That you need not know. I leave Morwell to my daughter Eve, commonly called Eve Jordan. That is Barbara’s wish.’
‘I urged it on my father,’ said Barbara.