im to go, that he should not throw disgrace on
the family."

Again Frederick cowered down, then rose, goaded to the last degree.
"Nevertheless, this will shall not stand. I will throw it into Chancery.
I will leave for London this very day."

"Stay," said Nathanael, starting from deep thought, and intercepting him
as he was quitting the room. "One word, Frederick."

"Not one! You are all against me, but I will brave you all. I will have
my rights--ay, even if I plead my father's insanity."

"Oh, horrible!" cried his sisters.

"Frederick, you know that to be impossible," said Nathanael, sternly.

"Then I will plead what may prove a deeper disgrace to the family
than madness, or even--what I am supposed to have done," catching his
brother's arm, and hissing out the words in his face--"I will plead
that the will is _a forgery_."

Nathanael wrenched away his hold, thereby throwing Frederick back almost
to the floor. The two stood for a moment glaring at one another, in that
deadly animosity, most deadly when it arises between brothers,--and then
the younger recovered himself. It might be because, instantaneously as
the struggle had begun and ended, he had heard a woman's cry of terror,
and the name uttered was not "Frederick," but "Nathanael." Also, as he
stood, he felt two little hands steal from behind and tighten over his
own. He grew very calm then.

"Frederick, you must unsay that word. There are some things which a man
cannot bear even from his brother. No doubt can exist that this is my
father's own writing, and no forgery. You know that as well as I do."

"As well as you do! Exactly what I meant to observe," said Major Harper,
with his keenest and politest sneer.

Nathanael moved back. A man's roused passions are always terrible;
but there is something ten times more awful in fury that is altogether
calm--molten down as it were to a white heat. Never but once--that
uneffaceable _once_--had Agatha seen her husband look as he looked now.

"Pause one minute, Frederick. If you had waited and heard me speak"----

"I dare you to speak!"

"It would be better not to dare me. I am at my last ebb of patience.
I have kept faithfully my promise to you. None of our family know--not
even my own wife--all that is known by you and me, and our father whom
we buried yesterday. I would have saved him from the knowledge if I
could, but it was not to be. Now, take care. If you drive me to it"--

He hesitated. Agatha felt