A FINAL SURPRISE
At the inquest, held on the body of the unfortunate Carrington, the
whole story of the events connected with the will of John Hendle was
related in detail. This was done by the advice of Inspector Lawson, so
as to avert further trouble. As the officer wisely pointed out, it was
necessary that the characters of all those implicated in the affair
should be cleared once and for all. This could only be done by the
truth being made public. And this course of procedure greatly
recommended itself to Rupert, who was tired of underhand doings. He
was of a frank nature, and the idea of hiding this and concealing
that, annoyed him exceedingly. He therefore made a clean breast of the
matter when called upon to give evidence regarding Carrington's death,
and insisted that everyone else should do the same. Consequently, the
whole amazing story appeared in print, and read like a romance.
Mallien was inclined to hold back from giving evidence, as, of course,
he should have communicated with the police the moment he became
cognizant that a murder had been committed. But both his cousin and
Lawson insisted that he should come forward to state what he knew,
and, notwithstanding his reluctance, he was compelled to do so. He
escaped better than he deserved, as it was seen how difficult his
position had been, and the majority of people argued that the man
could scarcely have been expected to incriminate himself by drawing
attention to the crime at the time when he discovered it. Mrs. Beatson
also contrived to elude reproof, as she cleverly stated that, when in
possession of the will, she had intended to hand it over to the
Squire. Of course, Rupert knew that she had never meant to do this,
but for the sake of Kit he did not contradict her statement. And,
because of Dorinda's feelings, he was glad to think that Mallien had
got off so lightly. The two plotters themselves were much relieved
that their characters had not suffered to an appreciable extent, and
retired into the grateful shade of obscurity as speedily as possible.
Things had turned out better than they had expected.
Carrington's conduct, of course, was condemned, since he had behaved
so basely, but not so severely as it would have been had he been
alive. Having met with a violent death, it was felt that he had paid
for his trickery, and as little as possible was said about him. Kit,
of course, was exonerated with regard to the accident, as Lawson
proved that the young man had sounded his horn when turning into the
park. But Carrington, anxious only to escape before the Inspector
could take him in charge, had either not heard the warning of the
horn, or had not attended to it. But be this as it may, there was no
doubt that he had ran on blindly and thus had fallen under the cruel
wheels of the car. Remembering Carrington's two premonitions about
walking over his grave in the avenue, Rupert thought it quite uncanny
that he should have met his fate on the very spot. But he only
remarked on the matter to Dorinda, who was wise enough to hold her
tongue. Enough had been said about Carrington and his disreputable
doings in the newspapers, so there was no need to say more.
Mr. Leigh did not appear at the inquest, as he lay dying in a
comfortable bed under the hospitable roof of The Big House. But he
signed a written statement detailing the events of the night when he
had been struck down, and this satisfied both Coroner and jury. After
all procurable evidence had been sifted a verdict of "Death by
Misadventure" was brought in, and the matter ended in the only way it
could end. Carrington's sole relative, a clerk in the War Office, came
down to take charge of the body, but expressed little surprise at the
smirched reputation of the dead man. Carrington had always been a
black sheep, and his relative grimly said to Rupert that he was glad
things had turned out as they had. Carrington, he observed, would
sooner or later have come to prison or the gallows had he lived, being
one of those unfortunate creatures who could not run straight. So that
was the end of the Squire's old school-friend, who had chosen evil
instead of good; and bad as he had been Hendle was kind-hearted enough
to regret the man's miserable end. Afterward, he always tried to
remember Carrington as he had been at Rugby, rather than as the
despicable plotter of his more mature years.
With the departure of the barrister's body in charge of his relative
from Barship departed all mystery. It is now known who had struck down
the vicar, and why the blow had been delivered. That Leigh had escaped
death was not Carrington's fault, and the dead man was practically a
murderer. But the villagers, in the excitement of finding their vicar
alive, began to overlook Carrington's share in the matter. The
question most frequently asked was whether Leigh would resume his
charge of the parish seeing that his successor had been appointed. But
all talk on this point was ended when it became known that the shocks
inflicted on the unfortunate man, both by being struck down and by
being buried alive had so shaken his system that he was not likely to
live. Tollart was attending to him, and did so in an entirely sober
state, as his narrow escape from trouble kept him away from the drink.
Sophy, indeed, regarded the whole matter as a blessing in disguise,
and hoped that her father would reform. He had every reason to do so
seeing what a lesson he had received. With regard to his giving a
certificate of death, Tollart's fellow-physicians held that he was
perfectly justified, since the vicar had been in a cataleptic trance.
But the villagers, headed by Titus, held that Dr. Tollart had been
drunk at the time when he examined the body, and this opinion was not
favorable to Tollart's reputation. However, when it was seen that he
had turned over a new leaf, his conduct was considered more kindly and
the doctor began to hope that he would weather the storm. But it had
very nearly wrecked him, and the escape he had had greatly improved
his character. In time by acting judiciously and keeping strictly
sober, he managed to reëstablish his position.
A week later, when everything in connection with the catastrophe was
quite settled, Mallien made his appearance at The Big House. He was
more subdued than usual, as he also had learned a lesson, but there
remained something of his old blustering manner when he entered the
library and produced John Hendle's will from his pocket. Rupert
guessed that his cousin had come to demand a settlement, and braced
himself to face a disagreeable future. It was not pleasant to become a
pauper, but there seemed to be nothing for it but to accept the
inevitable. Yet it was not so much the loss of the money which the
young man regretted as the probable loss of Dorinda as his wife.
Rupert knew his cousin well enough to be sure that once in the
possession of the estates and income he would not be inclined to
permit the marriage to take place. And seeing that he was likely to be
poor, it was useless for the girl to insist upon the fulfilment of the
engagement. It was with a sad face and a weary heart that Hendle asked
Mallien to take a seat.
"I suppose you have called to discuss matters regarding the will," he
said, leaning his head on his hand and speaking quietly.
"In a way, though I don't see that there is anything to discuss,"
retorted Mallien, who was rapidly regaining his former bullying ways.
"All you have to do is to clear out and allow me to come here."
"Walk out bag and baggage, you mean?"
"Something of that sort. I don't mind giving you one hundred pounds
with which to make a new start in life. If I were you, I would go to
Australia with Kit when he marries Sophy Tollart."
"And what about Dorinda?"
"She is not for you," said Mallien resolutely. "As the daughter of the
Squire of Barship, she must marry a man with a position."
"Does Dorinda say so?" inquired Rupert quietly.
"Dorinda," said the affectionate parent, "is as obstinate as a pig.
She is coming here in a few minutes to argue the matter. I told her
that I intended to settle the matter of the will to-day. But she
shan't marry you with my consent, and, as I have the money, you can
see that it would be wrong of you to drag her down to poverty."
"You put the case very plainly, Mallien."
"How else do you expect me to put it?" said the other, who was not in
the least ashamed of the cowardly way in which he was behaving.
"You might have a little more consideration for my position," remarked
Rupert, with a shrug.
"What consideration did you ever show to me?" snarled Mallien.
Rupert looked at the little man in amazement. "I have always been your
good friend," he said after a pause. "I have given you money and----"
"My own money," interrupted the visitor. "Much thanks for that. It
won't do, Rupert. I won't allow you to work on my feelings."
"I never knew that you had any to work on."
"No more I have. I want justice, and justice I intend to have."
"Don't make such a row over the matter," said Hendle contemptuously.
"You shall have what you want. But you can scarcely expect me to walk
out of this house this very minute. We must take the will to the
lawyers and have it gone into. Since you are behaving so brutally, I
am inclined to defend my position. There is the Statute of Limitations
to be considered."
"And there is me to be considered," said a quiet voice at the door,
and the two turned to see Dorinda at the door.
"You have been listening?" snapped her father.
"Yes, I have," she replied boldly, "and what I have heard shows me
what a cruel nature you have, father."
"Don't speak to me in that way," stormed Mallien, furiously.
"Oh, yes, I shall"; and Dorinda entered to place her hand on Rupert's
shoulder as if to give him confidence. "You have not got Rupert's
money yet."
"But I shall get it. The will is plain enough."
Before Dorinda could reply, Rupert rose to his feet and made a gesture
that she should be silent. "Leigh has something to say about the will,
Mallien," he remarked, "and had you not come over I should have sent
for you. Leigh wishes to see you and me and Dorinda."
"If Leigh intends to try on any hanky-panky," said Mallien, uneasily,
for the summons seemed strange and ominous to him, "he'll find himself
in the wrong box, I can tell you. You've been scheming with him, I
expect, since he has been lying there."
"I have scarcely seen him," retorted Rupert, passing his arm round
Dorinda's waist. "Tollart says he should be kept quiet."
"Then we shan't disturb him now."
"Yes, we shall. Leigh has something on his mind, and wants to see the
three of us. Tollart has given permission, so we can go up to him now.
Only I beg of you, Mallien, not to excite him, as he is very weak, and
is not far from death. You understand."
"I understand that you want to trick me in some way."
By this time Rupert's long-enduring patience was at an end, and he
turned on the selfish little man in a cold fury. "Look here, Mallien,
I have had enough of this," he said, firmly. "Don't goad me too far,
or you will regret it."
"Oh, will I!" taunted the other; "and in what way?"
"Possession is nine points of the law," retorted Hendle, "and you
appear to forget that I am the Squire of Barship. I shall see the
lawyers and take all chances I can to prevent you getting possession
of the money. I am innocent of any roguery in the matter, and my
position is a very unfair one, as I am not to blame. It is close upon
a century since that will was made, and if I make use of the Statute
of Limitations I may be able to squash the whole affair. Equity, if
not Common Law, will be on my side."
"You--you--you!" cried Mallien violently, "you swindler!"
"Don't call names," said Rupert imperiously, "or in spite of the fact
that Dorinda has the misfortune to call you father, I shall kick you
out of the house. So now you know."
"My own house," foamed Mallien, stamping.
"It's not your house yet, and it never may be."
"Well,"--Mallien drew a long breath--"I never--I never----" He turned
on his daughter suddenly and with violence. "What do you think of this
behavior?"
"I entirely approve of it," said Dorinda, calmly, "and I am glad to
see Rupert stand up for his rights. He has treated you far too well as
it is."
"What--what--what?"
"It's no use, father. You don't care for me and you don't care for
your honor. All you do care for is yourself."
"I--I--shall cut you off with a shilling--with a shilling."
"So long as I have Rupert, I don't care."
Hendle caught Mallien by the shoulders and pushed him toward the door.
"I can't allow any more of this, Mallien. Behave like a human being or
I shall turn you out. Now come up and hear what Leigh has to say."
"Oh, I'll come," cried Mallien viciously, but, unable to resist his
cousin's superior strength; "but remember that if there is any plot to
take away my money I shall make things hot for you."
"Get on! get on!" said Hendle, impatiently, "and don't make a fool of
yourself."
Mallien did go on and climbed the stairs to Leigh's room unwillingly.
He was beginning to see that there was nothing to be gained by
storming, and that his best plan would be to adjust the matters in
dispute quietly. Although he believed the will to be legal, he yet had
a lurking suspicion that it might be set aside by the Statute of
Limitations. Under these circumstances it was unwise to quarrel with
his cousin, so he became more subdued. All the same his dog-like
temper could not be entirely suppressed, and he entered the
sick-chamber growling and muttering savagely. Dorinda and Rupert
followed, the girl crying with shame. Her father's conduct was
disgraceful.
The vicar was propped up in bed with pillows, looking white and weak.
It was evident that he had not long to live, and there was an anxious
expression on his face which showed that he had something on his mind.
With a faint smile he welcomed the newcomers, and signed to the nurse
that she should leave the room. This the woman did, whispering in
passing Rupert that Tollart had left instructions that the patient was
to be as little excited as possible, since his strength was rapidly
failing. She also gave the young Squire a strong stimulant with which
to revive Leigh, should he grow faint during the interview; and saying
that she would return in half an hour departed softly. When the door
was closed, the vicar looked at the weeping Dorinda and her scowling
father; also at Rupert, who was cool and composed. Inwardly the Squire
was greatly disturbed, but it was necessary that he should keep his
emotions under control and he did so.
"Why do you cry, Dorinda?" asked the vicar, softly.
"She's a fool," growled Mallien frowning blackly.
"I am an honest girl," said Dorinda, flushing and drying her eyes;
"and I am ashamed of the cowardly way in which you are behaving."
"How is your father behaving?" questioned Leigh with an ironical
smile.
"He wants to take everything from Rupert and make him a pauper," said
Dorinda sadly. "He refuses to allow me to marry him."
"And will you obey him?"
"No!" She drew herself up proudly. "I love Rupert more than myself,
and if he will marry me I am ready to be his wife at any moment."
"Fool! Fool!" growled her father savagely.
"What do you say, Hendle?" inquired the vicar calmly.
"I wish to marry Dorinda, as I love her dearly," answered the Squire,
who was pale but composed; "but if this will is proved to be legal I
may lose all, and I can't ask Dorinda to share a life of poverty with
me."
"I don't care for your poverty," cried the girl, impetuously throwing
her arms round her lover's neck. "I would rather have a crust with you
than stay with my father in luxury."
"But I don't think it will be necessary for you to be reduced to a
crust, Dorinda," smiled the vicar. "After all, considering the
circumstances of the case and that Hendle is not to blame, surely your
father will give you half the income."
"Two thousand pounds," said Mallien derisively. "I'm not such a fool.
I shan't give Rupert a single penny, and if Dorinda marries him
without my consent, which she will never get, she must be prepared to
starve."
"Dorinda will never starve while I can work," said Rupert calmly.
"What at? You have never done a hand's turn in your life."
Leigh interposed before Rupert could reply. "Mallien, surely you will
not behave so wickedly and selfishly as to keep all the money to
yourself."
"Yes, I shall. The money is mine, and I shall not give a penny."
"You are a bad man," said Leigh slowly.
"Pooh! What do I care for your names?"
"Nothing. I can see that. However, I may be able to make you care.
Dorinda, give me some of that tonic."
The vicar's voice was growing weak and his eye closed. Dorinda slipped
her arm round his neck and gave him a dose of the medicine which
shortly took effect. He opened his eyes again and spoke in a stronger
voice. "Are you determined to behave in this unjust way, Mallien?"
"It is not unjust, and I do."
"You will keep all the money to yourself?"
"Every penny."
"And--if you can--prevent Dorinda marrying Hendle?"
"Yes. She does so at the risk of starvation."
"But you may ruin two lives, Mallien."
"Pooh! Don't talk rubbish, vicar. I shall do as I like."
"You shall not do as you like," said Leigh steadily. "You are an evil
and wicked man, although I am too sinful myself to say so. But I thank
God that He has permitted me to live and make reparation for my
wrongdoing." The vicar fumbled under his pillow and produced an
envelope. "Take this, Hendle, and put it into your pocket. No, don't
open it now. When I am dead you can learn how deeply I have sinned.
And, above all, don't let Mallien get hold of it."
Rupert slipped the envelope into the pocket of his coat and smiled
grimly although he also looked astonished. "I'll take care of that,"
he said, with a nod; "but what is the paper about?"
"It contains a signed and witnessed confession of my sin."
"Your sin." Mallien began to shake in his shoes as there was something
very ominous about these proceedings.
"Yes. I intended evil, and evil has come of my intention. But thank
God I am able to nip my wrongdoing in the bud. Mallien"--the vicar
shook a reproving forefinger at the man--"I have given you every
chance to behave as a Christian should, but you will not seize the
opportunity. Now it is too late, and you must abide by your selfish
conduct."
"What the devil are you talking about?"
"Hush, father, hush! Don't speak like that," cried Dorinda with a
shiver.
"I shall speak as I like. What does Leigh mean by his nonsense?"
"You will not find that paper I have given Hendle nonsense," said
Leigh in a faint voice. "It contains an account of my sin and will be
your punishment."
"Come to the point; come to the point," stuttered Mallien, nervously
angry.
Leigh turned to look at Hendle, who stood beside Dorinda silently
amazed at all this strange talk. "My friend," he said, wincing at
having to lower himself in the young man's eyes, "I was tempted by
Satan and I fell. In the muniment chest I found a bundle of letters
written by John Hendle, which showed that he wished to disinherit his
son Frederick, whom he hated, in favor of Eunice, the infant daughter
of his eldest son, Walter, whom he loved. He declared in the last
letter of the bundle--which you will find in the chest where I left
it--that he would make a will, leaving the estates to Eunice, who
married Filbert when she grew up. But John Hendle died of heart
disease, as other family documents show, before he could execute his
intention. He made no will in favor of Eunice, and Frederick lawfully
inherited the property."
Mallien turned a greenish color and pulled out the will from the
pocket--the will which had caused so many disasters. "John Hendle made
this----"
"He did not," interrupted the vicar in a strong and triumphant voice.
"I made that will. It is forged."
"Forged!" Rupert, Dorinda and Mallien all echoed the word.
"Yes," Leigh went on, speaking swiftly as if fearful that his strength
would not hold out to the end. "I wanted money to go to Yucatan, and
hoped to get it from Hendle. He was not inclined to fit out an
expedition, so I hoped to force him. Satan entered into me, and,
taking advantage of what was in those letters of John Hendle, I
prepared the will in favor of Eunice. I bought the parchment and wrote
out what was wanted to give me a hold over Hendle. When Carrington saw
me holding the will over the candle, I was doing so to change the
color of the ink and make the parchment appear black and a little
contracted. I did not give the forged will to Hendle when I spoke
about it, as it was not quite ready. Next day I proposed to give it to
him and to offer to allow him to burn it on condition that he gave me
enough money to go to Yucatan with an expedition. Failing Rupert, I
should have gone to you, Mr. Mallien."
"And you would have gone!" gasped Rupert, amazed by this recital. "I
would never have agreed to suppress that will had I believed it--as I
did--to be genuine."
"I see that now," said Leigh, whose voice was becoming fainter.
"You were too honorable for Mallien and Carrington, and you would
have been too honorable for me. My forgery was vain. But God
intervened and prevented me from carrying out my wicked plot.
Carrington came and--and--you--you--know the--rest. I acted
wickedly--and--I--I----" He stopped and fell back on his pillows with
a ghastly look on his face.
"He is dying," cried Dorinda, running to the bedside. "Call the
nurse."
Rupert opened the door, but Mallien looking like a fiend rushed to the
dying man and shook him roughly. "You are a liar! you are a liar!" he
screamed, white with thwarted ambition. "This will is not forged; this
will is----"
Hendle, furious with the man's inhumanity, caught him by the shoulders
and thrust him out of the room. The nurse hurried in and along with
Dorinda tried to revive the fainting vicar, but in vain. Dr. Tollart
was immediately sent for and came at once to pronounce that there was
no hope. Leigh lingered for twenty-four hours and then passed away
quietly without ever regaining consciousness. This time, as Tollart
took care to prove, the vicar was really dead, and within a week his
body was again placed in the family vault. To be certain about the
catalepsy, the corpse was kept above ground for the seven days until
there was no doubt that the man actually was dead. In vain Titus Ark,
overcome with grief, repeated his parrot cry that his friend "worn't
dead." Leigh was on this occasion a truly dead man. The blow on the
head, the shock to his nervous system caused by being buried alive,
and perhaps the shame of having to confess his forgery of the will,
had all combined to kill him. He died and Barship knew him no more.
And Mallien? He was almost crazy with rage at his loss. Again and
again he tried to prove that the forged will was a genuine document,
and saw many lawyers and experts. But the confession of Leigh, signed
by himself and witnessed by Titus Ark and his grandson, held good, as
it gave all details of how the false testament had been prepared.
Leigh confessed therein that he had copied the signature of John
Hendle from the letters which first gave him an idea of committing the
forgery. So in the end Mallien had to accept the fact that Rupert was
the true Squire of Barship, and that there was not the slightest
chance of his getting a single penny of the four thousand a year he so
greedily coveted.
While Mallien, frenzied with baffled avarice, was moving heaven and
earth to prove that he was the rightful heir, the other people who had
been connected with the strange affair of the will were settling
themselves in life. Mrs. Beatson obtained a situation as housekeeper
to an invalid gentleman in Derbyshire, much to the relief of Kit and
Miss Tollart. Hendle was so pleased with the way in which these two
had assisted him at an awkward moment, that he gave Kit a handsome sum
of money; and, along with Dorinda, was present at his marriage to the
doctor's daughter. Tollart himself found that, in spite of all
efforts, he could not quite do away with the prejudice against him,
although more or less he managed, as has been said, to reëstablish his
position. But perhaps conscience had something to do with his
determination to go to Australia with the young couple, for he felt
very uncomfortable among his patients. Sophy, who was unwilling to
part from her father since he might take to drink again, suggested
that he should emigrate. The doctor did so and shortly departed with
Mr. and Mrs. Beatson for Melbourne, where he hoped to redeem himself
entirely. And, thanks to Rupert's generosity, a start at the Antipodes
was made easy both for him and for the young people.
As to Hendle and Dorinda, they took advantage of Mallien's
preoccupation with regard to the will to get married quietly in
London. Dorinda was of age and did not require her father's consent.
Moreover, after his shabby behavior, she felt that even though he was
her father, she could never live with him again. So she became Mrs.
Hendle shortly after Leigh was buried for the second time, and, after
a short honeymoon, returned to be welcomed by one and all as the
mistress of The Big House. Everyone was delighted that Rupert still
kept his position, and everyone knew that the will, which had caused
so much trouble, had been forged. Hendle would have preferred to keep
Leigh's confession to himself out of regard to the unfortunate vicar's
memory, but Mallien's action left him no option but to make it public.
The amazing story added yet another chapter to the romance of the
whole queer business, and the story got into the newspapers. Mr. and
Mrs. Hendle were not a little troubled by reporters and interviewers
and snap-shot people, but in the end curiosity died away and they were
left to live their own simple life, doing good and making everyone
around them happy.
In the end, Mallien found that his efforts to prove the will to be
genuine were futile, so one day presented himself at The Big House in
a very dismal frame of mind. Not being able to get the property, he
was secretly pleased that his daughter should have become Mrs. Hendle,
even without his consent, as he hoped to use her for his own ends.
With the greatest impudence he suggested that his son-in-law should
fulfill his old promise and allow him five hundred a year.
"Oh, no," said Rupert, calmly, when Mallien came for a last interview.
"I don't think it is good for you to be treated with such leniency."
"Nor do I," chimed in Dorinda, who found it difficult to behave
amiably to her father, seeing how badly he had behaved.
"What do you mean?" demanded Mallien, taken aback, for he had quite
expected to get his own way. "What do you both mean?"
"I don't think it is so very difficult to gather what we mean,"
replied Rupert coolly. "You never intended to give me a penny had you
got the money, so why should I give an income to you?"
"That's different."
"Maybe. Anyhow, you will have to live on what you have."
"I am Dorinda's father."
"I don't look on you as my father," said the undutiful daughter. "You
never have behaved like a father to me, and now that I have Rupert to
look after me, I wish to see as little of you as possible."
"And this is my child," moaned Mallien, much cast down.
Dorinda laughed. "It won't do, father," she said calmly. "As Mr. Leigh
declared on his deathbed, you had every opportunity of acting
honorably. How you have acted I leave to your conscience to say."
"_I_ won't," said Rupert sharply. "See here, Mallien. I am a
kind-hearted man and wish to help everyone, but for me to give you
money for your wickedness would be wrong."
"What wickedness?"
"If you will have it; you threatened to turn me out of this house as a
pauper, and you have done your best to prove true a document which you
knew to be forged. If you had triumphed, Dorinda and I would have been
thrown into the street without a penny. Because you have failed, you
come whimpering to me for money. You shan't have any. As you are my
wife's father, I should have allowed you enough to live on had you
been without an income. But as you enjoy five hundred a year of your
own you can exist on that. And, as people here are not very well
disposed toward you, I advise you to go away."
Furious at this plain speaking Mallien turned on his daughter. "Do you
hear how I am spoken to?" he demanded looking black.
"I hear," responded Mrs. Hendle quietly, "and I am glad that you hear
the truth for once in your life. I hope it will make you a better man.
I think you had better take Rupert's advice and leave Barship."
"Oh, I shall go. I don't want to stay in such a hole," shouted
Mallien, putting on his hat violently; then he became pathetic. "And I
go to live a lonely life."
"I think you will find plenty of amusement in playing with your
jewels," said Dorinda quietly. "You never cared for me."
Mallien muttering something about an ungrateful child and a serpent's
tooth, walked away with a drooping head. It dawned on him dimly when
he shook the dust of Barship from his feet that perhaps after all, as
he had not given affection, he could not expect affection. But his
egotism was much too strong to permit him to understand fully that he
was only reaping what he had sown. He took up his abode in London and
managed to get along very comfortably on his five hundred a year. But
he always persisted in regarding himself as a much injured man and
stubbornly maintained that the will forged by Leigh was genuine.
Needless to say, he never missed his daughter, as he was far too much
wrapped up in himself to desire any company but his own.
"Do you think we have acted rightly, Rupert?" asked Dorinda in a
troubled tone, when her father departed after that last interview.
"Yes, dear. He is your father certainly, but he has no right to take
advantage of the relationship to behave so selfishly as he has done.
It would be wrong to pander to his egotism by giving him money."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Dorinda with a sigh. "People are very hard
to understand, Rupert. Besides my father, who puzzled me with his
selfishness, there is Mr. Leigh. Whatever made such a good and kind
man forge that will?"
Rupert shrugged his shoulders. "A sudden temptation perhaps," he said,
after a pause; "but I don't pretend to explain; his act was entirely
opposed to his character. If he was in a story people would say that
he was inconsistent."
Dorinda agreed. "Very inconsistent. Human beings are strange."
"They are, dear. But you see, as we only see the outside of people we
don't know how to account for every action. The majority of people are
children and often act wrongly without thinking of the consequences.
After all evil is only ignorance, for if wrongdoers knew what they
would have to pay for behaving wickedly they would not sin. Now,
darling, don't think anything more about the matter. Let us enjoy the
peace which has come to us after the storm. There is no more to be
said about the past and no more to be done. We are happy and try to
make others happy. What more do you want?"
"This," said Dorinda, and kissed him fondly.
THE END