ns with the old man. He had alluded to his dislike of having
secrets of his own. But she misunderstood him.

"If you are anxious to know--" she said, becoming very red in the
face.

"I am not at all curious to know. You quite mistake me."

"He has chosen to believe,--or to say that he believed,--that I
wronged him in regard to his brother's will. I nursed his brother
when he was dying,--as I considered it to be my duty to do. I cannot
tell you all that story. It is too long, and too sad. Romance is very
pretty in novels, but the romance of a life is always a melancholy
matter. They are most happy who have no story to tell."

"I quite believe that."

"But your Uncle Barty chose to think,--indeed, I hardly know what
he thought. He said that the will was a will of my making. When it
was made I and his brother were apart; we were not even on speaking
terms. There had been a quarrel, and all manner of folly. I am not
very proud when I look back upon it. It is not that I think myself
better than others; but your Uncle Brooke's will was made before we
had come together again. When he was ill it was natural that I should
go to him,--after all that had passed between us. Eh, Brooke?"

"It was womanly."

"But it made no difference about the will. Mr. Bartholomew Burgess
might have known that at once, and must have known it afterwards. But
he has never acknowledged that he was wrong;--never even yet."

"He could not bring himself to do that, I should say."

"The will was no great triumph to me. I could have done without it.
As God is my judge, I would not have lifted up my little finger to
get either a part or the whole of poor Brooke's money. If I had known
that a word would have done it, I would have bitten my tongue out
before it should have been spoken." She had risen from her seat, and
was speaking with a solemnity that almost filled her listener with
awe. She was a woman short of stature; but now, as she stood over
him, she seemed to be tall and majestic. "But when the man was dead,"
she continued, "and the will was there,--the property was mine,
and I was bound in duty to exercise the privileges and bear the
responsibilities which the dead man had conferred upon me. It was
Barty, then, who sent a low attorney to me, offering me a compromise.
What had I to compromise? Compromise! No. If it was not mine by all
the right the law could give, I would sooner have starved than have
had a crust of bread out of the money.