The will was read
in the library; the whole of the property, entailed and unentailed, was
left to his only son, Miles, and after him to his heirs. There was
several legacies to his servants, but no mention was made of
mademoiselle. I thought it strange at the time, afterward I understood
it.
Of course, as the poor young Miles was dead without heirs, I, as next of
kin, took his place. I faithfully carried out every wish expressed in
the will. That same evening I sent orders to London for a splendid
memorial window to be placed in the church, and while I sat wondering
whether I had remembered everything that required attention, there came
a rap at the library door. Mademoiselle would be glad if I could see her
for five minutes.
I went at once to the drawing-room, knowing she would be there. She was
dressed in the deepest mourning, and her face was very pale.
"I knew you would spare me a short time," she said. "I want to ask you a
question that I could not ask any one else. Of course you were present
when the will was read to-day?"
She raised her eyes to mine. I knew not what magnetism, what spell lay
in them; but no other eyes were like them.
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