For some few minutes his heart beat high with a new hope, and then sank again suddenly. Was it not much more likely that Jasper Treverton would find some means of evading the letter of his vow, for the benefit of a beloved adopted daughter, than that he should bequeath his fortune to a kinsman who was a stranger to him?
“Don’t let me be a fool,” John Treverton said to himself, “there’s not the faintest chance of any such luck for me, and I daresay this girl knows as much, though she is artful enough to pretend complete ignorance of the old man’s designs.”
The butler came in presently to announce that supper was ready for Mr. Treverton in the dining-room below. He went downstairs in answer to this summons, after begging Miss Malcolm to send for him the moment the invalid awoke.
The dining-room was handsomely furnished with massive sideboard and chairs of carved oak, the long narrow windows draped with dark red velvet. There was a fine old Venetian glass over the sideboard, and a smaller circular mirror above the old inlaid bureau that occupied the space between the windows opposite. There were a few good cabinet pictures of the Dutch school on the panelled walls, and a pair of fine blue and white Delft jars on the high carved oak chimneypiece. A wood fire burned cheerily in the wide grate, and the small round table on which the traveller’s supper had been laid was wheeled close to the edge of the Turkey hearthrug, and had a very comfortable appearance in the eyes of Mr. John Treverton as he seated himself in one of the capacious oak chairs.
In his disturbed state of mind he had little inclination to eat, though the cook had prepared a cozy supper that might have tempted an Anchorite; but he did justice to a bottle of excellent claret, and sat for some time, sipping his wine and looking about him thoughtfully, now at the curious old silver tankards and rose-water dishes on the sideboard, now at the Cuyps and Ostades on the dark oak walls. To whom would all these things belong when Jasper Treverton was no more? Throughout the house there were indications of wealth that inspired an almost savage longing in this man’s mind. What a changed life his would be if he should inherit only half of his cousin’s possessions. He thought, with a weary sigh, of the wretched hand to mouth existence that he had led of late years, and then thought of the things that he would do if he came in for any share of the old man’s money. He sat meditating thus until the servant came to tell him that Mr. Treverton was awake, and had asked to see him. He followed the man back to the study, where he had found Miss Malcolm. The room was empty now, but the curtain was drawn aside from the door of communication, and he passed through this into Jasper Treverton’s bedroom.
Laura Malcolm was seated at the bedside, but she rose as John entered, and slipped quietly away by another door, leaving him alone with his cousin.
“Sit down, John,” the old man said in a feeble voice, pointing to the empty chair by the bedside.
“It is rather late in the day for us two to meet,” he went on, after a brief pause, “but perhaps it is better for us to see each other once before I die. I won’t speak of your father’s quarrel with me. You know all about that, I daresay. We were both in the wrong, very likely; but it has long been too late to undo that. I loved him once, God knows!—yes, there was a day when I loved Richard Treverton dearly.”
“I have heard him say as much, sir,” John answered in subdued tones. “I regret that he should have quarrelled with you; I regret much more that he should not have sought a reconciliation.”
“Your father was always a proud man, John. Perhaps I liked him all the better for that. Most men in his position would have courted me for the sake of my money. He never did that.”
“It was not in him to do it, sir. He had his faults, I have no doubt, but a sordid nature was not one of them.”
“I know that,” answered Jasper Treverton, “nor have you ever sought me out, John, or tried to worm yourself into my favour. Yet, I suppose, you know that you are my sole surviving relative.”
“Yes, sir, I am quite aware of that.”
“And you have left me in peace, and have been content to take your chance. Well, you will find yourself none the worse off for having respected yourself and not worried me.”
John Treverton’s face flushed, and the beating of his heart quickened again, as it had quickened when Laura Malcolm told him of his kinsman’s vow.
“My death will make you a rich man,” returned Jasper, always speaking with a painful effort, and in so low a voice that John was obliged to bend over his pillow in order to hear him, “on one condition—a condition which I do not think you will find it difficult to comply with.”
“You are very good sir,” faltered the young man, almost too agitated to speak. “Believe me, I had no expectation of this.”
“I daresay not,” replied the other. “I took a foolish oath some years ago, and bound myself not to leave my fortune to the only creature I really love. To whom else should I leave it then, but to you—my next of kin? I know nothing against you. I have lived too remote from the world to hear its scandals; and I know not whether you have won good or evil repute among your fellow men; but I do know that you are the son of a man
