‘It was womanly.’

’But it made no difference about the will.  Mr Bartholomew Burgess might have known that at once, and must have known it afterwards.  But he has never acknowledged that he was wrong, never even yet.’

‘He could not bring himself to do that, I should say.’

’The will was no great triumph to me.  I could have done without it.  As God is my judge, I would not have lifted up my little finger to get either a part or the whole of poor Brooke’s money.  If I had known that a word would have done it, I would have bitten my tongue before it should have been spoken.’  She had risen from her seat, and was speaking with a solemnity that almost filled her listener with awe.  She was a woman short of stature; but now, as she stood over him, she seemed to be tall and majestic.  ‘But when the man was dead,’ she continued, ’and the will was there the property was mine, and I was bound in duty to exercise the privileges and bear the responsibilities which the dead man had conferred upon me.  It was Barty, then, who sent a low attorney to me, offering me a compromise.  What had I to compromise?  Compromise!  No.  If it was not mine by all the right the law could give, I would sooner have starved than have had a crust of bread out of the money.’  She had now clenched both her fists, and was shaking them rapidly as she stood over him, looking down upon him.

‘Of course it was your own.’

’Yes.  Though they asked me to compromise, and sent messages to me to frighten me, both Barty and your Uncle Tom; ay, and your father too, Brooke; they did not dare to go to law.  To law, indeed!  If ever there was a good will in the world, the will of your Uncle Brooke was good.  They could talk, and malign me, and tell lies as to dates, and strive to make my name odious in the county; but they knew that the will was good.  They did not succeed very well in what they did attempt.’

‘I would try to forget it all now, Aunt Stanbury.’

’Forget it!  How is that to be done?  How can the mind forget the history of its own life?  No I cannot forget it.  I can forgive it.’

‘Then why not forgive it?’

‘I do.  I have.  Why else are you here?’

‘But forgive old Uncle Barty also!’

’Has he forgiven me?  Come now.  If I wished to forgive him, how should I begin?  Would he be gracious if I went to him?  Does he love me, do you think or hate me?  Uncle Barty is a good hater.  It is the best point about him.  No, Brooke, we won’t try the farce of a reconciliation after a long life of enmity.  Nobody would believe us, and we should not believe each other.’

‘Then I certainly would not try.’

’I do not mean to do so.  The truth is, Brooke, you shall have it all when I’m gone, if you don’t turn against me.  You won’t take to writing for penny newspapers, will you, Brooke?’ As she asked the question she put one of her hands softly on his shoulder.