“As I went downstairs and into the back dining-room I heard the latch of the hall door rattle. ‘Is it Arthur?’ thought I; and of no mind to see him, I sat down and put out my candle, meaning to wait till he was come in, and then to slip out the back way. The next moment I heard Arthur’s voice and your father’s. Both doors into the front room were wide open, and down I sat quietly, with a good mind to hear. It is well I did. I suppose you would have marched in and said, ‘Take care how you talk; I am listening.’ Very fine, sir. But this was an enemy. You lie, cheat, spy, steal, and murder in war. How was I worse than you?”
“But, dear Aunt Gainor—”
“Don’t interrupt me, sir. I sat still as a mouse.” My aunt as a mouse tickled my fancy. There may be such in my friend Mr. Swift’s Brobdingnag.
“I listened. Master Wynne is pleasant, and has had a trifle too much of Mr. Somebody’s Madeira. He is affectionate, and your father sits up, and, as Dr. Rush tells me, is clear of head after his sleep, or at least for a time.
“My gentleman says, ‘I may have to leave you soon, my dear cousin. I want to talk to you a little. Is there any one in the back room?’ As there is no one, he goes on, and asks his cousin to tell him about the title to Wyncote as he had promised. His brother was ill and uneasy, and it was all they had, and it was a poor thing after all. Your father roused up, and seemed to me to fully understand all that followed. He said how fond he was of Arthur, and how much he wished it was he who was to have the old place. Arthur replied that it was only in his father’s interest he spoke.
“Then they talked on, and the amount of it was pretty much this. How many lies Arthur got into the talk the Lord—or the devil—knows! This was what I gathered: Your grandfather Hugh, under stress of circumstances, as you know, was let out of Shrewsbury jail with some understanding that he was to sell his estate to his brother, who had no scruples as to tithes, and to go away to Pennsylvania. This I knew, but it seems that this brother William was a Wynne of the best, and, as is supposed, sold back the estate privately to Hugh for a trifle, so that at any time the elder brother could reclaim his home. What became of the second deed thus made was what Arthur wanted to know.
“Your father must have it somewhere, Hugh. Now says Arthur, ‘We are poor, cousin; the place is heavily encumbered; some coal has been found. It is desirable to sell parts of the estate; how honestly can my father make a title?’ Your great-uncle William died, as we know, Hugh, and the next brother’s son, who was Owen and is Arthur’s father, had a long minority. When he got the place, being come of age, some memoranda of the transaction turned up. It was not a rare one in older Roundhead days. Nothing was done, and time ran on. Now the occupant is getting on in years, and as his second son Arthur is ordered hither on service, it was thought as well that he should make inquiry. The older squires had some vague tradition about it. It was become worth while, as I inferred, to clear the business, or at need to effect a compromise. Half of this I heard, and the rest I got by thinking it over. Am I plain, Hugh?” She was, as usual. “Your father surprised me. He spoke out in his old deliberate way. He said the deed—some such deed—was among his father’s papers; he had seen it long ago. He did not want the place. He was old and had enough, and it should be settled to Master Arthur’s liking.
“Your cousin then said some few words about you. I did not hear what, but your father at once broke out in a fierce voice, and cried, ‘It is too true!’ Well, Hugh,” she went on, “it is of no use to make things worse between you.”
“No,” I said; “do not tell me. Was that all?”
“Not quite. Master Arthur is to have the deed if ever it be found, and with your father’s and your grandfather’s methodical ways, that is pretty sure to happen.”