they are happy"--

"Few would live at all then," was the answer, unwontedly bitter. "Better
not--better not; poor Anne! It is a hard, cruel, miserable world."

"Why do you say that, Nathanael?"

He started, and Agatha too, for opening the door, with a bright, clear
look, was she of whom they were just talking--Anne Valery.

"I knew I might come in. I heard what you were doing here," and a slight
sadness crossed her face. "Is it all done, now?"

"Nearly," and Mrs. Harper hurriedly folded the letter, which lay still
on her lap. Miss Valery's eye caught the writing; Nathanael gave it to
her.

Anne read it; at first with a natural womanly feeling--nay, even
agitation. Soon this ceased, absorbed in the infinite peace and content
of her whole mien. "I knew all this long ago," she said calmly. "It was
a--a _mistake_ of Frederick's."--Then, still calmly; "What do you think
I have just heard from Marmaduke!--He"--there could be but one she
meant--"he has safely landed at Havre."

"Uncle Brian!" the young people both cried, and then instinctively
repressed the joy. It seemed too sacred to be expressed in ordinary
fashion. And passing naturally from one thought to another, Nathanael
glanced round the room; the unused desk, the scattered papers left to be
examined by the unfamiliar hands of a younger generation. Had the
absent one come but a little sooner! "Alas!" he said, "it seems as if the
world's universal sorrow lay in those words, '_Too late.'_"

Miss Valery sank on a chair, her temporary strength departing. Her hands
dropped into that fold that was peculiar and habitual to them--a simple
attitude, not unlike Chantrey's "Resignation."

"You speak truly, Nathanael. But 'our times are in _His_ hand.'"

She said no more, and shortly Mr. Harper, taking with him the sealed
packet that was endorsed "_My Will_" led the way to where the family
were assembled. In doing so there grew over him the hard silence always
visible when he was much affected. But Agatha was not surprised or hurt:
she began to understand him better now.

In the dining-room were only the immediate family. Every one knew the
probable purport of the will, and how simple a document it was likely to
be; for the patriarchal old Squire hated the very mention of law, and
it had been his pride that, though not entailed, the inheritance of
Kingcombe Holm had descended for centuries unbroken by a single legal
squabble. Therefore they all waited indifferently,