“Yes, you will, sir. It feels strange now, but you will soon get used to it. I wonder whether he left a will.”
“It can’t make any difference to you, you know. Every acre of the property is entailed. She has her settlement. Eight hundred a year, I think it is. She’ll not be a rich woman like her sister. I wonder where she’ll live. As far as that goes, she might stay at the house, if she likes it. I’m sure your mother wouldn’t object.”
Harry on this occasion asked no question about the living, but he also had thought of that. He knew well that his mother would befriend Mr. Saul, and he knew also that his father would ultimately take his mother’s advice. As regarded himself he had no personal objection to Mr. Saul, though he could not understand how his sister should feel any strong regard for such a man.
Edward Fielding would make a better neighbour at the parsonage, and then he thought whether an exchange might not be made. After that, and before his mother’s return from the great house, he took a stroll through the park with Fanny. Fanny altogether declined to discuss any of the family prospects, as they were affected by the accident which had happened. To her mind the tragedy was so terrible that she could only feel its tragic element. No doubt she had her own thoughts about Mr. Saul as connected with it. “What would he think of this sudden death of the two brothers? How would he feel it? If she could be allowed to talk to him on the matter, what would he say of their fate here and hereafter? Would he go to the great house to offer the consolations of religion to the widow?” Of all this she thought much; but no picture of Mr. Saul as rector of Clavering, or of herself as mistress in her mother’s house, presented itself to her mind. Harry found her to be a dull companion, and he, perhaps, consoled himself with some personal attention to the oak trees. The trees loomed larger upon him now than they had ever done before.
On the third day the rector went up to London, leaving Harry at the parsonage. It was necessary that lawyers should be visited, and that such facts as to the loss should be proved as were capable of proof. There was no doubt at all as to the fate of Sir Hugh and his brother. The escape of Mr. Stuart and of two of those employed by him prevented the possibility of a doubt. The vessel had been caught in a gale off Heligoland, and had foundered. They had all striven to get into the yacht’s boat, but those who had succeeded in doing so had gone down. The master of the yacht had seen the two brothers perish. Those who were saved had been picked up off the spars to which they had attached themselves. There was no doubt in the way of the new baronet, and no difficulty.
Nor was there any will made either by Sir Hugh or his brother. Poor Archie had nothing to leave, and that he should have left no will was not remarkable. But neither had there been much in the power of Sir Hugh to bequeath, nor was there any great cause for a will on his part. Had he left a son, his son would have inherited everything. He had, however, died childless, and his wife was provided for by her settlement. On his marriage he had made the amount settled as small as his wife’s friends would accept, and no one who knew the man expected that he would increase the amount after his death. Having been in town for three days the rector returned—being then in full possession of the title; but this he did not assume till after the second Sunday from the date of the telegram which brought the news.
In the meantime Harry had written to Florence, to whom the tidings were as important as to anyone concerned. She had left London very triumphant—quite confident that she had nothing now to fear from Lady Ongar or from any other living woman, having not only forgiven Harry his sins, but having succeeded also in persuading herself that there had been no sins to forgive—having quarrelled with her brother half-a-dozen times in that he would not accept her arguments on this matter. He too would forgive Harry—had forgiven him; was quite ready to omit all further remark on the matter; but could not bring himself when urged by Florence to admit that her Apollo had been altogether godlike. Florence had thus left London in triumph, but she had gone with a conviction that she and Harry must remain apart for some indefinite time, which probably must be measured by years. “Let us see at the end of two years,” she had said; and Harry had been forced to be content. But how would it be with her now?
Harry of course began his letter by telling her of the catastrophe, with the usual amount of epithets. It was very terrible, awful, shocking—the saddest thing that had ever happened! The poor widow was in a desperate state, and all the Claverings were nearly beside themselves. But when this had been duly said, he allowed himself to go into their own home question. “I cannot fail,” he wrote, “to think of this chiefly as it concerns you—or rather, as it concerns myself in reference to you. I suppose I shall leave the business now. Indeed, my father seems to think that my remaining there would be absurd, and my mother agrees with him. As I am the only son, the property will enable me to live easily without a profession. When I say ‘me,’ of course you will understand what ‘me’ means. The
