"There is no rightful heir," answered Ann; "the last man died at Worcester, childless."
"Was he married?" asked Reginald.
"Oh, yes!" said Ann; "there is an old woman down the village who knew him, and saw his young bride when he brought her home to this very house, a lovely girl, she said, too tender to weather the storms of these rough times; so when her husband died, she, broken-hearted, died also."
"And we have stepped into their place," said Reginald; "at least, there is no one to reproach us with it. No one seems to have any claim except perhaps some distant cousins of the late De Lisles I once heard of."
"Have you ever tried to find out aught concerning these De Lisles?" asked Ann.
"Yes I have," answered Reginald, "for I have always had a sort of feeling against ousting people out of their rights."
"Ah, well! it would make no difference," said Ann, "for my father told me that the deeds which gave us this estate were well and securely made out to him and to his heirs for ever."
"For ever!" repeated Reginald, with a light laugh; "as if there could be a for ever in this world." And he turned on his heel and went his way across the quadrangle beneath the great porch, where Ann lost sight of him.
"If he did find a lost heir," said Ann, "he is capable of throwing up his inheritance, at least if he were the master, which he is not."
As Reginald swung down the broad avenue of lime-trees, he saw his father coming towards him. It vexed him, for they had but little in common.