iscussing my
niece's virtues. I have come to talk to you on a little matter of
business. Your wife has told you her story?"

"My wife has certainly concealed nothing from me," replied Mr. Home.

"She has mentioned her father's very curious will?"

"His very unjust will," corrected Mr. Home.

"Yes, sir, I agree with you, it was unjust. It is to talk to you about
that will I have come to you to-night."

"Sit nearer to the fire," replied Mr. Home, poking up the handful in the
grate into as cheerful a blaze as circumstances would permit.

"It was, as you say, an unjust will," proceeded old Jasper, peering hard
with his short-sighted eyes at the curate, and trying to read some
emotion beneath his very grave exterior. Being unable to fathom the
depths of a character which was absolutely above the love of money, he
felt perplexed, he scarcely liked this great self-possession. Did this
Home know too much? "It was an unjust will," he repeated, "and took my
brother and myself considerably by surprise. Our father seemed fond of
his young wife, and we fully expected that he would leave her and her
child well provided for. However, my dear sir, the facts could not be
disputed. Her name was not mentioned at all. The entire property was
left principally to my elder brother John. He and I were partners in
business. Our father's money was convenient, and enabled us to grow
rich. At the time our father died we were very struggling. Perhaps the
fact that the money was so necessary to us just then made us think less
of the widow than we should otherwise have done. We did not, however,
forget her. We made provision for her during her life. But for us she
must have starved or earned her own living."

"The allowance you made was not very ample," replied Mr. Home, "and such
as it was it ceased at her death."

"Yes, sir; and there I own we--my brother and I--were guilty of an act
of injustice. I can only exonerate us on the plea of want of thought.
Our father's widow was a young woman--younger than either of us. The
child was but a baby. The widow's death seemed a very far off
contingency. We placed the money we had agreed to allow her the interest
on, in the hands of our solicitor. We absolutely forgot the matter. I
went to Australia, my brother grew old at home. When, five or six years
ago, we heard that Mrs. Harman was dead, and that our three thousand
pounds could return to us, we had absolutely forgotten the child. In
this I own w