"No," he said. "Except in this world's goods—which are unimportant.
Until one is leaving one's wife and child alone!"
I suppose she could not speak, for she answered nothing. The fingers clasped fingers fast and hard; wrung them a little. Yet both faces were steady. Mrs. Carpenter's eyes looked somewhat rigidly into the fire, and her husband's brow wore a shadow.
"I wish your father had left you at least the old place at Tanfield. It would have been no more than justice. Serena might have had all the rest, but that would have given you and Rotha a home."
"Never mind," said Mrs. Carpenter gently. "I am content with my share."
"Meaning me!" And he sighed.
"The best share of this world's goods any woman could have, Liph."
"We have been happy," he said, "in spite of all. We have had happy years; happier I could not wish for, but for this money trouble. And we shall have happy years again, Eunice; where the time is not counted by years, but flows on forever, and people are not poor, nor anxious, nor disappointed."
She struggled with tears again, and then answered, "I have not been disappointed. And you have no need to be anxious."
"No, I know," he said. "But at times it is hard for faith to get above sense. And I am not anxious; only I would like to know how you are going to do."
There was a silence then of some length.