ed her
into the drawing-room, where she was kindly greeted by the
brothers-in-law, and seated beside her eldest brother. As a duty, she
gave her attention, and was rewarded by finding that had he been living,
her hero, Mr. Charlecote, would have been her guardian. The will, dated
fifteen years back, made Humfrey Charlecote, Esquire, trustee and
executor, jointly with James Crabbe, Esquire, the elderly lawyer at
present reading it aloud. The intended codicil had never been executed.
Had any one looked at the downcast face, it would have been with wonder
at the glow of shy pleasure thrilling over cheeks and brow.

Beauchamp of course remained with the heiress, Mrs. Fulmort, to whom all
thereto appertaining was left; the distillery and all connected with it
descended to the eldest son, John Mervyn Fulmort; the younger children
received 10,000 pounds apiece, and the residue was to be equally divided
among all except the second son, Robert Mervyn Fulmort, who, having been
fully provided for, was only to receive some pictures and plate that had
belonged to his great uncle.

The lawyer ceased. Sir Bevil leant towards him, and made an inquiry
which was answered by a sign in the negative. Then taking up some
memoranda, Mr. Crabbe announced that as far as he could yet discover, the
brother and five sisters would divide about 120,000 pounds between them,
so that each of the ladies had 30,000 pounds of her own; and, bowing to
Phoebe, he requested her to consider him as her guardian. The Admiral,
highly pleased, offered her his congratulations, and as soon as she could
escape she hastened away, followed by Robert.

'Never mind, Phoebe,' he said; taking her hand; 'the kindness and pardon
were the same, the intention as good as the deed, as far as _he_ was
concerned. Perhaps you were right. The other way might have proved a
stumbling-block.' Speak as he would, he could not govern the tone of his
voice nor the quivering of his entire frame under the downfall of his
hopes. Phoebe linked her arm in his, and took several turns in the
gallery with him.

'Oh, Robin, if I were but of age to divide with you!'

'No, Phoebe, that would be unfit for you and for me. I am only where I
was before. I knew I had had my portion. I ought not to have
entertained hopes so unbefitting. But oh, Phoebe! that she should be
cast about the world, fragile, sensitive as she is--'

Phoebe could have said that a home at the Holt was open to Luc