"That is the cause. Papa has come to his senses and changed his mind. It is our darling little Walter who is to be the heir of Leet Hall, Philip—and papa has so informed Harry Carradyne."
Philip Hamlyn gazed at his wife in doubt. He had never heard a word of this; instinct had kept her silent.
"I hope not," he emphatically said, breaking the silence.
"You hope not?"
"Walter shall never inherit Leet Hall with my consent, Eliza. Harry Carradyne is the right and proper heir, and no child of mine, as I hope, must or shall displace him."
Mrs. Hamlyn treated her husband to one of her worst looks, telling of contempt as well as of power; but she did not speak.
"Listen, Eliza. I cannot bear injustice, and I do not believe it ever prospers in the long run. Were your father to bequeath—my dear, I beg of you to listen to me!—to bequeath his estates to little Walter, to the exclusion of the true heir, rely upon it the bequest would never bring him good. In some way or other it would not serve him. Money diverted by injustice from its natural and just channel does not carry a blessing with it. I have noted this over and over again in going through life."
"Anything more?" she contemptuously asked.
"And Walter will not need it," he continued persuasively, passing her question as unheard. "As my son, he will be amply provided for."
A very commonplace interruption occurred, and the subject was dropped. Nothing more than a servant bringing in a letter for his master, just come by hand.