“Stop!” said I. “Remember, dear, I have not hid it from you. I desired
only that some day you and I should consider it alone and tranquilly.
But now there is no help for it, and you must hear. The deed--”
“Is this it?” she broke in, taking the yellow parchment off the table
where my aunt had laid it.
“Yes, yes,” said my aunt; “and you must bring Hugh to his senses about
it, my dear. It is a great estate, and rich, and the old house--we have
its picture, Darthea. Madam Wynne of Wyncote, I shall come and visit
you.” The old lady was flushed, and foolishly eager over this vain
ambition.
Darthea stood in the brilliant firelight, her eyes set on the deed. “I
cannot understand it,” she said.
“I will send for candles,” cried Mistress Wynne, “and you shall hear
it, and the letters too;” and with this she rang a hand-bell, and bade
Caesar fetch lights.