she says, in a clear, impassioned tone. "It is the will
of an imbecile,--a madman. It shall not be." She has lost all
self-restraint, and is trembling with fear and rage and a terrible
certainty of defeat.

"Pardon me, Miss Amherst," says Mr. Buscarlet, courteously, "but I fear
you will find it unwise to lay any stress on such a thought. To dispute
this will would be madness indeed: all the world knows my old friend,
your grandfather, died in perfect possession of his senses, and this
will was signed three months ago."

"You drew up this will, sir?" she asks in a low tone, only intended for
him, drawing closer to him.

"Certainly I did, madam."

"And during all these past months understood thoroughly how matters
would be?"

"Certainly, madam."

"And knowing, continued still--with a view to deceive me--to treat me
as the future mistress of Herst?"

"I trust, madam, I always treated you with proper respect. You would
not surely have had me as rude to you as you invariably were to me? I
may not be a gentleman, Miss Amherst, in your acceptation of that term,
but I make it a rule never to be--offensive."

"It was a low--a mean revenge," says Marcia, through her teeth, her
eyes aflame, her lips colorless; "one worthy of you. I understand you,
sir; but do not for an instant think you have crushed _me_."
Raising her head haughtily, she sweeps past him back to her original
seat.

Molly has risen to her feet. She is very pale and faint; her eyes,
large and terrified, like a fawn's, are fixed, oddly enough, upon
Philip. The news has been too sudden, too unexpected, to cause her even
the smallest joy as yet. On the contrary, she knows only pity for him
who, but a few minutes before, she was reviling in her thoughts.
Perhaps the sweetness of her sympathy is the one thing that could have
consoled Philip just then.

"'Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness,'" he says, with a
little sneering laugh, shrugging his shoulders. Then, rousing himself,
he draws a long breath, and goes straight up to Molly.

"Permit me to congratulate you," he says, with wonderful grace,
considering all things. He is standing before her, with his handsome
head well up, a certain pride of birth about him, strong enough to
carry him successfully through this great and lasting disaster. "It is,
after all, only natural that of the three you should inherit. Surprise
should lie in the fact that never did such a possibility occur to us.
We migh