“That contingency is also provided for,” put in Mr. Benton.
“How?”
“The property is willed to the legatee—house, land, and money—to be personally occupied by said beneficiary and not sold, deeded, or given away on the conditions—a very unusual condition this second one——” Again Mr. Benton stopped, his thumbs and finger neatly pyramided into a miniature squirrel cage, over the top of which he regarded his client meditatively. His reverie appeared to be intensely interesting.
“Very unusual indeed,” he presently concluded absently.
“Ah, yes, Miss Webster,” he continued, starting at the interrogation. “As I was saying, the conditions made by the deceased are unusual—peculiar, in fact, if I may be permitted to say so. The property goes to Mr. Martin Howe on the condition that in six months’ time he personally rebuilds the wall lying between the Howe and Webster estates and now in a state of dilapidation.”
“He will never do it,” burst out Lucy indignantly, springing to her feet.
“In that case the property goes unreservedly to the town of Sefton Falls,” went on Mr. Benton in an even tone, “to be used as a home for the destitute of the county.”
The girl clinched her hands. It was a trap,—a last, revengeful, defiant act of hatred.
The pity that any one should go down into the grave with such bitterness of heart was the girl’s first thought.