“In Lord Holchester’s critical state of health,” she answered, “I decline to take the responsibility of telling him what you have just told me. My own influence has been uniformly exerted in my son’s favor—as long as my interference could be productive of any good result. The time for my interference has passed. Lord Holchester has altered his will this morning. I was not present; and I have not yet been informed of what has been done. Even if I knew—”
“Your ladyship would naturally decline,” said Sir Patrick, “to communicate the information to a stranger.”
“Certainly. At the same time, after what you have said, I do not feel justified in deciding on this matter entirely by myself. One of Lord Holchester’s executors is now in the house. There can be no impropriety in your seeing him—if you wish it. You are at liberty to say, from me, that I leave it entirely to his discretion to decide what ought to be done.”
“I gladly accept your ladyship’s proposal.”
Lady Holchester rang the bell at her side.
“Take Sir Patrick Lundie to Mr. Marchwood,” she said to the servant.
Sir Patrick started. The name was familiar to him, as the name of a friend.
“Mr. Marchwood of Hurlbeck?” he asked.
“The same.”
With that brief answer, Lady Holchester dismissed her visitor. Following the servant to the other end of the corridor, Sir Patrick was conducted into a small room—the ante-chamber to the bedroom in which Lord Holchester lay. The door of communication was closed. A gentleman sat writing at a table near the window. He rose, and held out his hand, with a look of surprise, when the servant announced Sir Patrick’s name. This was Mr. Marchwood.