John’s maternal grandfather had married twice.  By his first wife he had had one son, Shadrach; and by his second wife two daughters and a son, Mary (John’s mother), Hannah, and Meshach.  The last two had never married.  Shadrach had estranged all his family (except old Ebenezer) by marrying beneath him, and Mary had earned praise by marrying rather well.  These two children, by a useful whim of the eccentric old man, had received their portions of the patrimony on their respective wedding-days.  They were both dead.  Shadrach, amiable but incompetent, had died poor, leaving a daughter, Susan, who had repeated, even more reprehensibly, her father’s sin of marrying beneath her.  She had married a working potter, and thus reduced her branch of the family to the status from which old Ebenezer had originally raised himself.  Fred Ryley, now an orphan, was Susan’s only child.  As an act of charity John Stanway had given Fred Ryley a stool in the office of his manufactory; but, though Fred’s mother was John’s first cousin, John never acknowledged the fact.  John argued that Fred’s mother and Fred’s grandfather had made fools of themselves, and that the consequences were irremediable save by Fred’s unaided effort.  Such vicissitudes of blood, and the social contrasts resulting therefrom, are common enough in the history of families in democratic communities.

Old Ebenezer’s will left the residue of his estate, reckoned at some fifteen thousand pounds, to Meshach and Hannah as joint tenants with the remainder absolutely to the survivor of them.  By this arrangement, which suited them excellently since they had always lived together, though neither could touch the principal of their joint property during their joint lives, the survivor had complete freedom to dispose of everything.  Both Meshach and Hannah had made a will in sole favour of John.

‘Yes,’ John said again, ’he’s altered it in favour of young Ryley.  David Dain told me the other day.  Uncle told Dain he might tell me.’

‘Why has he altered it?’ Leonora asked aloud at last.

John shook his head.  ‘Why does Uncle Meshach do anything?’ He spoke with sarcastic irritation.  ’I suppose he’s taken a sudden fancy for Susan’s child, after ignoring him all these years.’

‘And has Aunt Hannah altered her will, too?’

‘No.  I’m all right in that quarter.’

’Then if your Aunt Hannah lives longest, you’ll still come in for everything, just as if your Uncle Meshach hadn’t altered his will?’

’Yes.  But Aunt Hannah won’t live for ever.  And Uncle Meshach will.  And where shall I be if she dies first?’ He went on in a different tone.  ’Of course one of ’em’s bound to die soon.  Uncle’s sixty-four if he’s a day, and the old lady’s a year older.  And I want money.’

‘Do you, Jack, really?’ she said.  Long ago she had suspected it, though John never stinted her.  Once more the solid house and their comfortable existence seemed to shiver and be engulfed.