FINDING THE WILL.
There was a heavy rain falling the next morning, and the whole house
took a dreary aspect, spite of the fragrance that came up from the
flowers with every light gush of wind, and the cheerful adornments of
the breakfast-room, which overlooked one of the loveliest pictures that
domain could produce. At another time there might have been a pleasant
variety in this stormy day, for the shifting clouds were beautiful, and
gleams of sunshine now and then struggled through the trees, bathing
them with light for an instant, then throwing them back into the mingled
fog and glitter of a fresh burst of rain.
One grand old willow stood out on the lawn just before the bay window,
with its great boughs dripping down to the grass a mighty fountain of
leaves, and the window itself was curtained with crimson, flowering
honeysuckles, threaded about the lower sash with white jessamines, over
which ten thousand rain-drops trembled and fell away, dashing the broad
window-panes with little rivulets of brightness. The room itself was
both elegant and comfortable. Fruit and flower paintings in harmony with
the scene without hung from the walls. The table itself was a picture,
with its delicate china, its cut crystal and frosted silver. Yet the
lawyer who sat there alone took no heed of these things. His mind was on
the ocean with that burning ship, for Mr. Lander had been his friend,
and he had regarded that bright-haired child, the daughter, with no
common affection.
The only picture in the room was a portrait of this girl, taken when she
was perhaps ten years old. It was larger and less childish than the
picture which hung in Mr. Lander’s office, but there was no mistaking
the identity. She sat with her arms folded on a desk, looking wearily at
an open book, which contained, no doubt, some hard lesson; other volumes
lay scattered on the desk, which added to her disquiet; tears were
brimming into her eyes, and you could almost fancy the lips beginning to
quiver.
Stone looked at this picture now and then as he made a pretence at
eating breakfast. The sight of it saddened him to the heart, and more
than once he rested his forehead on one hand, sighing heavily as if the
child had been his own. He sat in this position when a low, female voice
disturbed him. Mrs. Lander drew towards the table and took a seat, not
as if she intended to partake of the breakfast, but with the dreary air
of one who forces herself to perform a painful duty.
Mr. Stone lifted his massive forehead from the hand which supported it
and turned his eyes kindly upon her. She was very pale, and her face
presented the washed-out appearance of a woman who had cried all night.
“You were looking at her picture,” she said. “It is like her, poor
child. You will find one in every room that her father occupied much; he
doted on her.”
“She was a fine child,” said the lawyer, gently. “They tell me that you
also have lost a daughter.”
“My only child,” answered the mother.
“And who are the nearest relatives?”
“The children of Mr. Lander’s cousin, who died long ago. They are
somewhere out West.”
“Farmers?”
“I believe so.”
“This will be a fine property for them to fall into—a very fine
property,” said the lawyer, gradually gliding into the spirit of his
profession.
“Yes,” answered the widow, faintly.
“Have you any knowledge of a will, Mrs. Lander?”
“I—I—have heard of one, or that he was about to make one before he went
over the seas after the girls; but he might not have done it. There
seemed to be no occasion. He was not a very old man, and worshipped his
daughter, whose health was perfect. I thought of this yesterday, and
went into his study to look for something of the kind, but my heart gave
way; I could not force myself to touch his papers, and sent for you. But
it is doubtful—very doubtful if anything is found.”
“We will have a search. You eat nothing, madam.”
“I cannot taste a morsel.”
“And I have got over what little appetite this news has left to me; so
we will go to my poor friend’s room at once.”
“No, no, I would rather not. The very sight of his chair and desk made
me faint when I went in yesterday. Here are the keys; this, which
belongs to the safe, has some mysterious combination which no one but
David comprehends. But he will go with you—a more trusty creature never
lived.”
“I can believe that,” said the lawyer. “He seems a smart, honest fellow
enough. Let him show me the room.”
Stone had arisen by this time and rang the bell. The sadness which hung
around him when alone had vanished entirely. He took out his watch like
a man impatient to proceed to business. Mrs. Lander kept her seat by the
table and said nothing. She did not seem to know when David came in and
the lawyer followed him from the room. Eunice entered the breakfast-room
soon after, and began to replace some silver on the sideboard, casting
sharp glances at her mistress as she passed to and fro, but there was no
talking between them. Eunice trod softly, and her mistress seemed to
listen with a strain of the senses.
At last a slow, heavy tread came down the stairs, and Mr. Stone entered
the breakfast-room.
“Madam,” he said, with a distinctness that made the widow start in her
chair, “had Mr. Lander, among the people about him, any such persons as
Eunice and Joshua Hurd?”
“One of them names belongs to me, I calculate,” said Eunice marching up
to the table like a grenadier.
“To you, eh? Well, where is the other witness?”
“The other what?”
“This Joshua Hurd?”
“Where should he be but somewhere about the stables? Show me where a
hoss is, and I’ll show you Josh Hurd. Why the critter’s my own brother.
But what do you want of him, if I may be so bold?”
“Did he and you sign a paper for Mr. Lander just before he went away?”
“Jest afore he went away. Well I reckon it must a been nigh on to a week
or ten days afore.”
“But you did sign one?”
“In course we did. I happened to be going by his office door and he
called me in—”
“Well?”
“He was a writing fast, and kept me till he got through. I looked on
till I got a tired out. Then he signed his name to the paper, and told
me to write mine too.”
“And you did?”
“Of course I did; then he told me to call John or some one of the
servants, but John was out and I ran across to the stables for Joshua.”
“Did you know what this paper was?”
“Yes; Mr. Lander told me that he was willing away his property.”
The lawyer was not quite satisfied, clear and simple as all this
appeared. One of those inexplicable feelings that are beyond all reason
had seized upon him, and unconsciously he fell into a spirit of sharp
cross examination.
“Can you find this man, Joshua Hurd? I would like to speak with him,” he
said.
“In less than no time. He’s always on hand about the stables,” answered
the woman, and she marched off with an air of relief.
Mrs. Lander had not spoken during this examination, but her eyes were
bent anxiously on the lawyer, and he could see that some hard strain of
the nerves was harassing her. This was scarcely more than natural,
considering her position in the family. Still the lawyer watched her
with vague doubts, which he could not himself have accounted for.
“Is it true? Has a will been found?” she asked, after a pause which
seemed unnaturally long. Her voice was low and hoarse, her eyes
downcast, she did not lift them fully to his once while she was
speaking.
“Yes, a will has been found in Mr. Lander’s safe, witnessed by the woman
and a man who is her brother.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the widow, and she fell into silence, leaning her elbow
upon the table and shrouding her face with one hand. She evinced no
curiosity to know how the property had been left. Was it because she had
no hopes in her own behalf or from the reticence of fore-knowledge?
The lawyer asked himself this question as he gazed at her from under his
heavy eyebrows. The woman seemed conscious of his scrutiny, and moved in
her seat; then her hand dropped and she lifted her eyes clearly to his.
“To whom does the will relate? Where does the property go?” she asked.
He did not answer her; for that moment Eunice came in, followed by her
brother, who seemed restless and uneasy as the lawyer turned upon him.
First he buried a huge hand in his pantaloons pocket, then drew it out
with a jerk and took off his cap in hot haste, struck with a sudden
remembrance of some early maternal lesson on the subject.
He grew red and sallow under the keen eyes bent upon him beneath Lawyer
Stone’s heavy brows. Indeed, in all respects, this man, Joshua Hurd, was
a remarkably uncouth specimen of a down East ignoramus—an animal
possessed of appetites and plenty of that low cunning which is sometimes
more than a match for absolute wisdom. To use his own term, endorsed by
the more acute sister, Joshua knew as well as another man “on which side
his bread was buttered, stupid as he seemed.”
“Come here, my good man, into Mr. Lander’s office, I want a little talk
with you,” said the lawyer.
Joshua, who had been standing with one foot planted hard on a cluster of
flowers glowing in the carpet, and the other raised upon the square toe
of his shoe, like that of a tired horse, settled down into a walking
condition and shambled out of the room.
“Sit down, Mr. Hurd, sit down,” said the suave lawyer, pointing to a
rotary chair near the desk; “I want a little talk with you about the
paper you signed for Mr. Lander. When was it? I forgot the exact time.”
“It was jest afore the Gov’ner went away from home last time,” answered
Joshua, with the dogged air of a stupid schoolboy.
“But when was that?”
“Last spring.”
“Do you remember the date?”
“No.”
“Was it morning or evening?”
“Can’t remember.”
“Which signed the paper first, you or your sister?”
“Eunice.”
“Was Mrs. Lander present?”
“No!”
“Had Mr. Lander signed it when you came in?”
“Unsartin.”
“Did Mr. Lander say anything?”
“Said it was his last testament.”
“Was that exactly what he said?”
“Jest that. I looked round for the book, but there wasn’t none there,
nor Bible neither; but he said it was a testament, consarned if he
didn’t.”
“Did you tell any one of this?”
“No; ’twasn’t none of my business what the old chap wrote about his
testaments.”
The lawyer was puzzled. It certainly was strange that Mr. Lander, with
two intelligent and tolerably educated retainers in the house, should
have selected this boor for a witness to his will. But there was nothing
to be gathered from the curt answers that had followed his
investigations. So far, the will seemed legal in all its forms, and Mrs.
Lander was, by its provisions, sole legatee of all her brother-in-law’s
wealth.
Mr. Stone went into the breakfast-room again and found this lady gazing
fixedly on the carpet at her feet, so lost in thought that she sprang up
and uttered a little scream when the lawyer addressed her.
“Madam, the will we have found is entirely in your favor.”
There was no surprise in her face; no outburst of satisfaction. Her eyes
were turned wildly on the lawyer, her lips moved, but she did not speak.
“The news overcomes you, madam!”
“Yes, yes—I—I am a little faint—thank you, I am only a little.”
The woman gasped for breath and pressed one hand on her bosom. She did,
indeed, seem ready to faint.
Eunice Hurd came into the room like a grenadier and swept off with the
widow, almost carrying her.
“She’s tired out, and talking ain’t good for her.”
Eunice flung the words over her shoulder, looking back upon Lawyer Stone
with a defiant air which he could not understand.
The lawyer sat down dissatisfied, and taking out the will, read it over
again. It was certainly in his friend’s handwriting, and he was made
joint executor with Mrs. Lander. Why was it that a sense of mystery and
wrong-doing clung to him?