For some time after the funeral nothing was said concerning the will, and Margaret had almost forgotten the existence of one, when one day as she was passing the library door her mother appeared, and asked her to enter.  She did so, and found there her brother, whose face, besides the marks of recent sorrow which it wore, now seemed anxious and expectant.

“Maggie dear,” said the oily-tongued woman, “I have sent for you to hear read your beloved father’s last will and testament.”

A deep flush mounted to Margaret’s face, as she repeated somewhat inquiringly, “Father’s last will and testament?”

“Yes, dear,” answered her mother, “his last will and testament.  He made it several weeks ago, even before poor Carrie died; and as Walter is now the eldest and only son, I think it quite proper that he should read it.”

So saying, she passed toward Walter a sealed package, which he nervously opened, while Margaret, going to his side, looked over his shoulder, as he read.

It is impossible to describe the look of mingled surprise, anger, and mortification which Mrs. Hamilton’s face assumed, as she heard the will which her husband had made four weeks before his death, and in which Walter shared equally with his sister.  Her first impulse was to destroy it; and springing forward, she attempted to snatch it from Walter’s hand, but was prevented by Margaret, who caught her arm and forcibly held her back.

Angrily confronting her stepdaughter, Mrs. Hamilton demanded, “What does this mean?” to which Mag replied: 

“It means, madam, that for once you are foiled.  You coaxed my father into making a will, the thought of which ought to make you blush.  Carrie overheard you telling Lenora, and when she found that she must die she wrote it on a piece of paper, and consigned it to Willie’s care!”

Several times Mrs. Hamilton essayed to speak, but the words died away in her throat, until at last, summoning all her boldness, she said, in a hoarse whisper, “But the homestead is mine—­mine forever, and we’ll see how delightful I can make your home!”

“I’ll save you that trouble, madam,” said Walter, rising and advancing toward the door.  “Neither my sister nor myself will remain beneath the same roof which shelters you.  To-morrow we leave, knowing well that vengeance belongeth to One higher than we.”

All the remainder of that day Walter and Margaret spent in devising some plan for the future, deciding at last that Margaret should on the morrow go for a time to Mrs. Kirby’s, while Walter returned to the city.  The next morning, however, Walter did not appear in the breakfast parlor, and when Margaret, alarmed at his absence, repaired to his room, she found him unable to rise.  The fever with which his father had died, and which, was still prevailing in the village, had fastened upon him, and for many days was his life despaired of.  The ablest physicians were called, but few of them gave any hope to the pale, weeping sister, who, with untiring love, kept her vigils by her brother’s bedside.