Only One Love; or, Who Was the Heir. Garvice Charles
observed of all observers. Every night the little club that met in the “Bush” parlor talked about him, and wondered why he didn’t go to the Hurst, and whether he would be the new squire.
The day of the funeral arrived at last – a cold, wet day, that foreshadowed the approaching autumn; and Jack put on his black suit – made by the village tailor who had described Stephen as a nice-spoken gentleman – and went up to the Hurst.
It was the first time he had been near it since the night he had the scuffle with Stephen on the lawn; and, to Jack’s eyes, it looked gloomier than ever.
As he entered the hall, a shrunken figure in shabby black came to meet him; it was old Skettle, Hudsley’s clerk.
The old man peered at him curiously, and made him a respectful bow in response to Jack’s blunt greeting, and opened the library door.
Mr. Hudsley was standing at the table, and looked up with his wrinkled face and keen eyes – not a trace of expression beyond keenness in them. Jack shook hands with him and looked around.
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