him from exercising his office at
his friend's grave, but nobody could take from him the still nobler
duty of defending the oppressed.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

When the door closed upon Lucy and her sister, Mr Wentworth stood by
himself, facing the other people assembled. The majority of them were
more surprised, more shocked, than he was; but they were huddled
together in their wonder at the opposite end of the table, and had
somehow a confused, half-conscious air of being on the other side.

"It's a very extraordinary revelation that has just been made to us,"
said Dr Marjoribanks. "I am throwing no doubt upon it, for my part; but
my conviction was, that Tom Wodehouse died in the West Indies. He was
just the kind of man to die in the West Indies. If it's you," said the
Doctor, with a growl of natural indignation, "you have the constitution
of an elephant. You should have been dead ten years ago, at the very
least; and it appears to me there would be some difficulty in proving
identity, if anybody would take up that view of the question." As he
spoke, Dr Marjoribanks walked round the new-comer, looking at him with
medical criticism. The Doctor's eyes shot out fiery hazel gleams as he
contemplated the heavy figure. "More appearance than reality," he
muttered to himself, with a kind of grim satisfaction, poising a
forefinger in air, as if to prove the unwholesome flesh; and then he
went round to the other elbow of the unexpected heir. "The thing is now,
what you mean to do for them, to repair your father's neglect," he said,
tapping peremptorily on Wodehouse's arm.

"There is something else to be said in the mean time," said Mr
Wentworth. "I must know precisely how it is that a state of affairs so
different from anything Mr Wodehouse could have intended has come about.
The mere absence of a will does not seem to me to explain it. I should
like to have Mr Brown's advice--for my own satisfaction, if nothing
else."

"The parson has got nothing to do with it, that I can see," said
Wodehouse, "unless he was looking for a legacy, or that sort of thing.
As for the girls, I don't see what right I have to be troubled; they
took deuced little trouble with me. Perhaps they'd have taken me in as
a sort of footman without pay--you heard what they said, Waters? By
Jove! I'll serve Miss Mary out for that," said the vagabond. Then he
paused a little, and, looking round him, moderated his tone. "I've
been badly used all my life,"