"I but thought of the tale I heard DeNortier tell one day in his cups, of how thou didst go into the cave to explore it. The old hag, Neulta, cried out from a secret panel in the wall, and blew the candle out of thy hand with some of her secret power, and thou didst dash out of the cave as though the devil were at thy heels." He laughed again apologetically, and rubbed his eyes with his sleeve.
"Thou knowest how Dunraven entrapped the Lady Margaret," he continued, "and how they set sail in the 'Betsy,' and making further south reached this coast a week before thou didst."
"Yes," I answered impatiently. "But how does the Lady Margaret bear her imprisonment?"
"Like an angel," he said, his crafty eyes lifted to mine to watch every expression. "Not a murmur has ever crossed her lips, and DeNortier protects her from harm, for he stands ever between her and Dunraven like a shield."
"But I have something here that nearly concerns thee," he continued, drawing from his doublet a square package. "'Tis thy father's will, which I stole from thy brother Richard one night, thinking perhaps to sell it to thee at a propitious moment. It is thine for ten thousand pounds," and he waited impatiently for my reply. "Wouldst give that much for the estates and title?"
"Thou art mad!" I replied. "Even if I thought thou didst speak truth and that it were my father's will, which I do not believe, still he had no power to will the title and land from Richard if he so desired, which is improbable, for the estates have been entailed for the benefit of the eldest son for ages."
"Old Sir Hugh Richmond, thy grandfather, broke the entail by suffering a common recovery," he replied. "Nay, do not look so incredulous, the proof is in this package. Wilt give ten thousand pounds for the document?"
"If what thou sayest be true, I am willing," I answered. "But how came my father to disinherit Richard?"
"'Tis the same old tale," Marsden rejoined. "Richard, thinking he had the game in his own hands, turned loose all his ill-humor upon thy father after thou hadst left England, making the old lord's life a perfect hell on earth with his abuse and ill-treatment. Four days before he died he sent for a scrivener, and deeded all of his property of whatsoever character to Sir Robert Vane to hold in trust for thee. As the estate has been held in fee simple since the common recovery was suffered, he could so fix it that Richard could not get at the property. I tell thee that old Sergeant Moore, who drew up the deed, has so tied up the estate that 'tis impossible to overturn the conveyance," and he chuckled at the thought.
"But to resume my tale—the title cannot be disposed of as long as Richard lives, but thy brother cannot of course maintain the dignity of his position without the estates to keep it up. He will be glad to relinquish it in thy behalf for a mere pittance, and thou canst have his action ratified by act of Parliament, so thou wilt be safe in any event," and so saying, he put the package into my hands.