undisputed possession of her late grandfather's
property."

"I should think her husband would see after that," Mr. Tulliver remarked
with a sneer.

Gilbert left the court after having asked a few questions about Jacob
Nowell's funeral. The old man had been buried at Kensalgreen, followed to
the grave only by the devoted Tulliver, Mr. Medler, and the local surgeon
who had attended him in his last illness. He had lived a lonely
friendless life, holding himself aloof from his fellow-creatures; and
there were neither neighbours nor friends to lament his ending. The
vagabond boys of the neighbourhood had clustered round the door to
witness the last dismal ceremony of Mr. Nowell's existence, and had hung
about the shop-front for some time after the funeral _cortege_ had
departed, peering curiously down into the darksome area, and speculating
upon the hoards of wealth which the old miser had hidden away in
coal-cellars and dust-bins, under the stone flags of the scullery, or in
the crannies of the dilapidated walls. There were no bounds to the
imagination of these street Arabs, who had been in the habit of yelping
and whooping at the old man's heels when he took his infrequent walks
abroad, assailing him with derisive epithets alluding to his miserly
propensities. Amongst the elders of the court there was some little talk
about the dead man, and the probable disposal of his property, with a
good deal of argument and laying down of the law on the part of the
graver and wiser members of that community; some people affecting to know
to a sixpence the amount of Jacob Nowell's savings, others accrediting
him with the possession of fabulous riches, and all being unanimous in
the idea that the old man's heir or heirs, as the case might be, would
speedily scatter his long-hoarded treasures. Many of these people could
remember the silversmith's prodigal son; but none among them were aware
of that gentleman's return. They wondered a good deal as to whether he
was still living, and whether the money had been left to him or to that
pretty young woman who had appeared in the last days of the old man's
life, no one knowing whence she had come. There was nothing to be gained
from questioning Luke Tulliver, the court knew of old experience. The
most mysterious dungeons of the Spanish Inquisition, the secret chambers
under the leads in Venice, were not closer or deeper than the mind of
that young man. The court had been inclined to think that