No Name

He opened one of them and set himself to read in the customary manner. But his attention wandered; and his eyes strayed away, from time to time, to the empty chair opposite—the chair in which his old friend and gossip had sat and wrangled with him good-humoredly for many and many a year past. After a struggle with himself he closed the book. 'D—n the chair!' he said: 'it will talk of him; and I must listen.' He reached down his pipe from the wall and mechanically filled it with tobacco. His hand shook, his eyes wandered back to the old place; and a heavy sigh came from him unwillingly. That empty chair was the only earthly argument for which he had no answer: his heart owned its defeat and moistened his eyes in spite of him. 'He has got the better of me at last,' said the rugged old man. 'There is one weak place left in me still—and he has found it.'

Meanwhile, Mr. Pendril entered the shrubbery, and followed the path which led to the lonely garden and the desolate house. He was met at the door by the man-servant, who was apparently waiting in expectation of his arrival.

'I have an appointment with Miss Garth. Is she ready to see me?'

'Quite ready, sir.'

'Is she alone?'

'Yes, sir.'

'In the room which was Mr. Vanstone's study?'

'In that room, sir.'

The servant opened the door and Mr. Pendril went in.

The governess stood alone at the study window. The morning was oppressively hot, and she threw up the lower sash to admit more air into the room, as Mr. Pendril entered it.

They bowed to each other with a formal politeness, which betrayed on either side an uneasy sense of restraint. Mr. Pendril was one of the many men who appear superficially to the worst advantage, under the influence of strong mental agitation which it is necessary for them to control. Miss Garth, on her side, had not forgotten the ungraciously guarded terms in which the lawyer had replied to her letter; and the natural anxiety which she had felt on the subject of the interview was not relieved by any favorable opinion of the man who sought it. As they confronted each other in the silence of the summer's morning—both dressed in black; Miss Garth's hard features, gaunt and haggard with grief; the lawyer's cold, colorless face, void of all marked expression, suggestive of a business embarrassment and of nothing more—it would have been hard to find two persons less attractive externally to any ordinary sympathies than the two who had now met together, the one to tell, the other to hear, the secrets of the dead.

'I am sincerely sorry, Miss Garth, to intrude on you at such a time as this. But circumstances, as I have already explained, leave me no other choice.'

'Will you take a seat, Mr. Pendril? You wished to see me in this room, I believe?'

'Only in this room, because Mr. Vanstone's papers are kept here, and I may find it necessary to refer to some of them.'

After that formal interchange of question and answer, they sat down on either side of a table placed close under the window. One waited to speak, the other waited to bear. There was a momentary silence. Mr. Pendril broke it by referring to the young ladies, with the customary expressions of sympathy. Miss Garth answered him with the same ceremony, in the same conventional tone. There was a second pause of silence. The humming of flies among the evergreen shrubs under the window penetrated drowsily into the room; and the tramp of a heavy- footed cart-horse, plodding along the high-road beyond the garden, was as plainly audible in the stillness as if it had been night.

The lawyer roused his flagging resolution, and spoke to the purpose when he spoke next.

'You have some reason, Miss Garth,' he began, 'to feel not quite satisfied with my past conduct toward you, in one particular. During Mrs. Vanstone's fatal illness, you addressed a letter to me, making certain inquiries; which, while she lived, it was impossible for me to answer. Her deplorable death releases me from the restraint which I had imposed on myself, and permits—or, more properly, obliges me to speak. You shall know what serious reasons I had for waiting day and night in the hope of obtaining that interview which unhappily never took place; and in justice to Mr. Vanstone's memory, your own eyes shall inform you that he made his will.'

He rose; unlocked a little iron safe in the corner of the room; and returned to the table with some folded sheets of paper, which he spread open under Miss Garth's eyes. When she had read the first words, 'In the name of God, Amen,' he turned the sheet, and pointed to the end of the next page. She saw the well-known signature: 'Andrew Vanstone.' She saw the customary attestations of the two witnesses; and the date of the document, reverting to a period of more than five years since. Having thus convinced her of the formality of the will, the lawyer interposed before she could question him, and addressed her in these words:

'I must not deceive you,' he said. 'I have my own reasons for producing this document.'

'What reasons, sir?'

'You shall hear them. When you are in possession of the truth, these pages may help to preserve your respect for Mr. Vanstone's memory—'

Miss Garth started back in her chair.

'What do you mean?' she asked, with a stern straightforwardness.

He took no heed of the question; he went on as if she had not interrupted him.

'I have a second reason,' he continued, 'for showing you the will. If I can prevail on you to read certain clauses in it, under my superintendence, you will make your own discovery of the circumstances which I am here to disclose—circumstances so painful that I hardly know how to communicate them to you with my own lips.'

Miss Garth looked him steadfastly in the face.

'Circumstances, sir, which affect the dead parents, or the living children?'

'Which affect the dead and the living both,' answered the lawyer. 'Circumstances, I grieve to say, which involve the future of Mr. Vanstone's unhappy daughters.'

'Wait,' said Miss Garth, 'wait a little.' She pushed her gray hair back from her temples, and struggled with the