The sordid moneyed class of England will haggle over bequests and

settlements and dowries on their bridal eve, or by the coffins of

their dead. Herminia had no such ignoble possibilities. How could

he speak of it in her presence at a moment like this? How obtrude

such themes on her august sorrow?

"This was drawn up," Dr. Merrick went on in his austere voice, "the

very day before my late son left London. But, of course, you will

have observed it was never executed."

And in point of fact Herminia now listlessly noted that it lacked

Alan's signature.

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"That makes it, I need hardly say, of no legal value," the father

went on, with frigid calm. "I bring it round merely to show you

that my son intended to act honorably towards you. As things stand,

of course, he has died intestate, and his property, such as it is,

will follow the ordinary law of succession. For your sake, I am

sorry it should be so; I could have wished it otherwise. However, I

need not remind you"--he picked his phrases carefully with icy

precision--"that under circumstances like these neither you nor your

child have any claim whatsoever upon my son's estate. Nor have I

any right over it. Still"--he paused for a second, and that

incisive mouth strove to grow gentle, while Herminia hot with shame,

confronted him helplessly--"I sympathize with your position, and do

not forget it was Alan who brought you here. Therefore, as an act

of courtesy to a lady in whom he was personally interested . . . if

a slight gift of fifty pounds would be of immediate service to you

in your present situation, why, I think, with the approbation of his

brothers and sisters, who of course inherit--"

Herminia turned upon him like a wounded creature. She thanked the

blind caprice which governs the universe that it gave her strength

at that moment to bear up under his insult. With one angry hand

she waved dead Alan's father inexorably to the door. "Go," she

said simply. "How dare you? how dare you? Leave my rooms this

instant."

Dr. Merrick still irresolute, and anxious in his way to do what he

thought was just, drew a roll of Italian bank notes from his

waistcoat pocket, and laid them on the table. "You may find these

useful," he said, as he retreated awkwardly.

Herminia turned upon him with the just wrath of a great nature

outraged. "Take them up!" she cried fiercely. "Don't pollute my

table!" Then, as often happens to all of us in moments of deep

emotion, a Scripture phrase, long hallowed by childish familiarity,

rose spontaneous to her lips. "Take them up!" she cried again.

"Thy money perish with thee!"




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