“Ordinarily the execution of a deed of gift from you to him, would accomplish that object.”

“Will you please write out the proper form on the paper in front of you?”

“I certainly will not.”

“May I know why?”

“For two reasons.  Personally, the deed of gift would embarrass me even more than the will.  Professionally, it occurs to me you are not of age; hence the transfer would be invalid at present.  Pardon me, how old are you?”

“I was eighteen on the fourth of July last.  Grim sarcasm is it not, that the child of Independence Day should be locked up in a dungeon?”

“The law of the State requires the age of twenty-one years to insure the validity of such a transaction as that which you contemplate.”

“Do you mean that my hands are tied; that if I should live, I can do nothing for more than two years?”

“Such is the law.”

“Then the justice that fled from criminal law, steers equally clear of the civil code?  What curious paradoxes, what subtleties of finesse lurk in those fine meshes of jurisprudence, ingeniously spread to succor wary guilt, to tangle and trip the careless feet of innocence!  All the world knows that the dearest wish that warmed General Darrington’s heart was to disinherit and repudiate his daughter, and to secure his worldly goods to his adopted son; and yet because a sheet of paper expressing that desire could not be produced in court, the will of the dead is defied, and the fortune is thrust into the hated hands which its owner swore should never touch it; hands that the law says murdered in order to steal.  When the child of the disowned and repudiated, holding sacred the unfortunate man’s wishes, refuses to accept the blood-bought heritage, and attempts to replace the fatal legacy in the possession of those for whom it was notoriously intended—­this Tartufe of justice strides forward and forbids righteous restitution; postpones the rendering of ‘Caesar’s things to Caesar’ for two years, in order to save the condemned the additional pang of regretting the generosity of her minority!  Human wills, intentions and aims, no matter how laudable and well known, are blandly strangled by judicial red tape, and laid away with pompous ceremonial in the dusty catacombs of legal form.  Grimly grotesque, this masquerade of equity!  Something must be done for Mr. Darrington, to enable him to finish his studies and embark on the career his father designed.”

“He is a man, and can learn to carve his way unaided.”

She sighed wearily, and a troubled look crossed her face; while the visitor followed with longing eyes the slow motion of her delicate hand, beautiful as Herses’, that softly stroked the cat purring against her shoulder.

“Surely there is an outlet to this snare.  You could help me if you would.”

“I?  Do you imagine that after all the injuries I have inflicted on you, I can consent to help you beggar yourself?”