Such was his control over himself that he looked really benign and noble as he drew from his pocket a copy of the will and held it out toward Clara.

“My dear cousin,” he murmured, his dark eyes searching her face with intense anxiety, “you cannot imagine my joy in announcing to you that you are the sole heir of the good Pedro Munoz.”

CHAPTER XXXV.

At the announcement that she was a millionaire Clara turned pale, took the proffered paper mechanically with trembling fingers, and then, without looking at it, said, “Oh, Coronado!”

It was a tone of astonishment, of perplexity, of regret, of protest; it seemed to declare, Here is a terrible injustice, and I will none of it.  Coronado was delighted; in a breath he recovered all his presence of mind; he recovered his voice, too, and spoke out cheerfully: 

“Ah, you are surprised, my cousin.  Well, it is your grandfather’s will.  You, as well as all others, must submit to it.”

Aunt Maria jumped up and walked or rather pranced about the room, saying loudly, “He must have been the best man in the whole world.”  After repeating this two or three times, she halted and added with even more emphasis, “Except you, Mr. Coronado!”

The Mexican bowed in silence; it was almost too much to be praised in that way, feeling as he did; he bowed twice and waved his hand, deprecating the compliment.  The interview was a very painful one to him, although he knew that he was gaining admiration with every breath that he drew, and admiration just where it was absolutely necessary to him.  Turning to Clara now, he begged, “Read it, if you please, my cousin.”

The girl, by this time flushed from chin to forehead, glanced over the paper, and immediately said, “This should not be so.  It must not be.”

Coronado was overjoyed; she evidently thought that she owed him and Garcia a part of this fortune; even if she kept it, she would feel bound to consider his interests, and the result of her conscientiousness might be marriage.

“Let us have no contest with the dead,” he replied grandly.  “Their wishes are sacred.”

“But Garcia and you are wronged, and I cannot have it so,” persisted Clara.

“How wronged?” demanded Aunt Maria.  “I don’t see it.  Mr. Garcia was only a cousin, and he is rich enough already.”

Coronado, remembering that he and Garcia were bankrupt, wished he could throw the old lady out of a window.

“Wait,” said Clara in a tone of vehement resolution.  “Give me time.  You shall see that I am not unjust or ungrateful.”

“I beg that you will not bestow a thought upon me,” implored the sublime hypocrite.  “Garcia, it is true, may have had claims.  I have none.”

Aunt Maria walked up to him, squeezed both his hands, and came near hugging him.  Once out of this trial, Coronado could bear no more, but kissed his fingers to the ladies, hastened to his own room, locked the door, and swore all the oaths that there are in Spanish, which is no small multitude.