Only One Love; or, Who Was the Heir. Garvice Charles
they could finish, they saw, with horror, the dying man half raise himself, his face livid, his hands wildly clutching the air, his eyes, by accident, turned toward Stephen.
“You – you thief!” he gasped. “Give it to me! – give – give – oh, God! Too late? – too la – ”
It was too late. Before the nurse and Jack could rush into the room, horrified by the shriek which rang from Stephen’s white lips, old Ralph Davenant had fallen back dead!
CHAPTER VII
Half an hour afterward Stephen Davenant passed down the stairs on tiptoe, though the tramp of an armed host could not disturb old Ralph Davenant now – passed down with his hand pressed against his breast pocket, in which lay the stolen will. Had the sheet of blue foolscap been composed of red-hot iron instead of paper, Stephen could not have felt its presence more distinctly and uncomfortably; it seemed to burn right through his clothes and scorch his heart; he could almost fancy, in his overstrained state, that it could be seen through his coat.
He paused a moment outside the library door, one white hand fingering his pale lips, the other vainly striving to keep away from his breast pocket, and listened to the tramp, tramp of Jack as he walked up and down the room. Any other face would have been more endurable than Jack’s, with its fiercely frank gaze and outspoken contempt.
At last he opened the door and entered, his handkerchief in his hand. Jack stopped and looked at him.
“I have been waiting for you,” he said.
“My poor uncle!”
Jack looked at him with keen scrutiny, mingled with unconcealed scorn.
“I have been waiting for you, in case you wished to say anything before I went.”
“What?” murmured Stephen, with admirably feigned surprise and regret. “You will not go, my dear Jack! not to-night.”
“Yes, to-night,” said Jack quietly. “I couldn’t stop in the house – I shall go to the inn.”
“But – ”
“No, thanks!” said Jack, cutting him short.
“Oh, do not thank me,” murmured Stephen, meekly. “I may have no right to offer you hospitality, the house may be yours.”
“Well, I think you could give a pretty good guess on that point,” said Jack, bluntly; “but let that pass. I am going to the ‘Bush.’ If you or Mr. Hudsley want me – where is Hudsley?” he broke off to inquire.
“Mr. Hudsley is up-stairs sealing up the safe and things,” said Stephen humbly. “He wished me to assist him, but I had rather that he should do it alone – perhaps you would go through the house with him?”
Jack shook his head.
“As you please,” murmured Stephen, with a resigned sigh. “Mr. Hudsley is quite sufficient; he knows where everything of importance is kept. You will have some refreshments after your journey, my dear Jack?”
“No, thanks,” said Jack; “I want nothing – I couldn’t eat anything. I’ll go now.”
“Are you going, Mr. Newcombe?” said Mr. Hudsley, entering and looking from one to the other keenly.
“I am going to the ‘Bush;’ I shall stay there in case I am wanted.”
“The funeral had better be fixed for Saturday. You and Mr. Stephen will be the chief mourners.” Then he turned to Stephen. “I have sealed up most of the things. Is there anything you can suggest?”
“You know all that is required; we leave everything to you, Mr Hudsley. I think I may speak for my cousin – may I not, Jack?”
Jack did not reply, but put on his gloves.
“I will go now,” he said. “Good-night, Mr. Hudsley.”
The old lawyer looked at him keenly as he took his hand.
“I shall find you at the ‘Bush?’” he said.
“Yes,” replied Jack, and was leaving the room when Stephen rose and followed him.
“Good-night, my dear Jack,” he said. “Will you not shake hands on – on such an occasion?”
Jack strode to the door and opened it without reply, then turned and, as if with an effort, took the hand which Stephen had kept extended.
“Good-night,” he said, dropping the cold fingers, and strode out.
Stephen looked after him a moment with his meek, long-suffering expression of face changed into a malignant smile of triumph, and his hand went up to his breast pocket.
“Good-night, beggar!” he murmured, and closed the door.
Mr. Hudsley was still standing by the library-table, toying absently with the keys, a thoughtful frown on his brow, which did not grow any lighter as Stephen entered, making great play with the pocket-handkerchief.
“I think I also may go now, Mr. Stephen,” he said. “Nothing more can be done to-night. I will be here in the morning with my clerk.”
“I suppose nothing more can be done. You have sealed up all papers and jewels? I am particularly anxious that nothing shall be left informal.”
“I don’t think there is anything unsealed that should have been.”
“A very strange scene, the final one, Mr. Stephen.”
“Awful, awful, Mr. Hudsley. My poor uncle seemed quite delirious at the last.”
“Hem!” grunted the old lawyer, putting his hat to his lips and looking over it at the white, smooth face. “You think he was delirious – ”
“Don’t you, Mr. Hudsley? Do you think that he was conscious of what he was saying? You have been his legal adviser and confidant for years; you would know whether there was any meaning in his wild and incoherent statement about the will. As you are no doubt aware, my poor uncle never broached the subject of his intentions to me.”
“I know of only one will – that of last year. That will I executed for him; it is the will locked up in the safe up-stairs. I have a copy at the office,” he added, dryly.
“You – you don’t think there is any other – any other later will?” he asked, softly.
“I didn’t think so until an hour ago. I am not sure that I think so now. Do you?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “My uncle was not the man to draw up a will with his own hand, and his confidence, and I may say affection for you, were so great that he would not have gone to any other legal adviser to do it for him. No, I do not think there is any other will; of course, I do not know the contents of the will in the safe.”
“Of course not,” said Mr. Hudsley, in a tone so dry that it seemed to rasp his throat.
“And yet I cannot understand, my poor uncle’s outbreak, except by attributing it to delirium.”
“Hem!” said Mr. Hudsley. “Well, in case there should have been any meaning and significance in it, my clerk and I will make a careful search to-morrow.”
“Yes,” murmured Stephen, “and I devoutly trust that should a later will be in existence, you may find it.”
“I hope we may,” said Mr. Hudsley. “Good-night!”
Stephen accompanied him to the door as he had accompanied the doctor and Jack, and saw him into the brougham, and then turned back into the house with a look of release, which, however, gradually changed to one of lurking fear and indefinite dread.
“Conscience makes cowards of us all.”
It makes a worse coward of Stephen Davenant than he was naturally.
As he stood in the deserted hall, and looked round, at its vast dimness, at the carved gallery and staircase, somber and dull for want of varnish, and listened to the faint, ghostly noises made by the awe-stricken servants moving to and fro overhead, a