this; he had seen how the man
longed to rebel, had he dared: and now a flush of pain rose to his brow
as he remembered that in that interview he had _not_ been the master;
that he was less master now than he had ever been. Roy would likewise
remember it.

Mr. Bitterworth took Lionel aside. Sir Rufus Hautley had gone out after
the blow had fallen, when the codicil had been searched for in vain, had
gone out in anger, shaking the dust from his feet, declining to act as
executor, to accept the mourning-ring, to have to do with anything so
palpably unjust. The rest lingered yet. It seemed that they could not
talk enough of it, could not tire of bringing forth new conjectures,
could not give vent to all the phases of their astonishment.

"What could have been your offence, that your uncle should alter his
will, two years ago, and leave the estate from you?" Mr. Bitterworth
inquired of Lionel, drawing him aside.

"I am unable to conjecture," replied Lionel. "I find by the date of this
will that it was made the week subsequent to my departure for Paris,
when Jan met with the accident. He was not displeased with me then, so
far as I knew----"

"Did you go to Paris in opposition to his wish?" interrupted Mr.
Bitterworth.

"On the contrary, he hurried me off. When the news of Jan's accident
arrived, and I went to my uncle with the message, he said to me--I
remember his very words--'Go off at once; don't lose an instant,' and he
handed me money for the journey and for my stay; for Jan, also, should
any great expense be needed for him; and in an hour I was away on my
route. I stayed six months in Paris, as you may remember--the latter
portion of the time for my own pleasure. When I did return home, I was
perfectly thunderstruck at the change in my uncle's appearance, and at
the change in his manners to me. He was a bowed, broken man, with--as it
seemed to me--some care upon his mind; and that I had offended him in
some very unfortunate way, and to a great extent, was palpable. I never
could get any solution to it, though I asked him repeatedly. I do not
know, to this hour, what I had done. Sometimes I thought he was angry
at my remaining so long away; but, if so, he might have given me a hint
to return, or have suffered some one else to give it, for he never wrote
to me."

"Never wrote to you?" repeated Mr. Bitterworth.

"Not once, the whole of the time I was away. I wrote to him often; but
if he had occasion to send me a