“Will you not listen to me, John?”

“Not about that.  How could I die in peace were I to rob him?”

“It is all your own,—­to do as you like with.”

“It is all my own, but not to do as I like with.  With your feelings, with your ideas, how can you urge me to such an injustice?”

“Do I want it for myself?  I do not even want it for any one belonging to me.  There is your cousin Peter.”

“If he were the heir he should have it,—­though I know nothing of him and believe him to be but a poor creature and very unfit to have the custody of a family property.”

“But he is his father’s son.”

“I will believe nothing of that,” said the sick man raising himself in his bed.  “It is a slander; it is based on no evidence whatsoever.  No one even thought of it but you.”

“John, is that the way to speak to me?”

“It is the way to speak of an assertion so injurious.”  Then he fell back again on his pillows and she sat by his bedside for a full half hour speechless, thinking of it all.  At the end of that time she had resolved that she would not yet give it up.  Should he regain his health and strength,—­and she would pray fervently night and day that God would be so good to him,—­then everything would be well.  Then he would marry and have children, and Bragton would descend in the right line.  But were it to be ordained otherwise, should it be God’s will that he must die, then, as he grew weaker, he would become more plastic in her hands, and she might still prevail.  At present he was stubborn with the old stubbornness, and would not see with her eyes.  She would bide her time and be careful to have a lawyer ready.  She turned it all over in her mind, as she sat there watching him in his sleep.  She knew of no one but Mr. Masters whom she distrusted as being connected with the other side of the family,—­whose father had made that will by which the property in Dillsborough had been dissevered from Bragton.  But Mr. Masters would probably obey instructions if they were given to him definitely.

She thought of it all and then went down to lunch.  She did not dare to refuse altogether to meet the other woman lest such resolve on her part might teach those in the house to think that Lady Ushant was the mistress.  She took her place at the head of the table and interchanged a few words with her grandson’s guest,—­which of course had reference to his health.  Lady Ushant was very ill able to carry on a battle of any sort and was willing to show her submission in everything,—­unless she were desired to leave the house.  While they were still sitting at table, Reginald Morton walked into the room.  It had been his habit to do so regularly for the last week.  A daily visitor does not wait to have himself announced.  Reginald had considered the matter and had determined that he would follow his practice just as though Mrs. Morton were not there.  If she were civil to him then would he be very courteous