"I am not certain, Wallingford, that I ought to receive so large a sum--I
do not know that my father, or Lucy or indeed the world, would altogether
approve of it."

"Neither your father, nor Lucy, nor the world will know anything about it,
sir, unless you see fit to acquaint them I shall not speak of the bequest;
and I confess that, on my sister's account, I should prefer that _you_
would not."

"Well, Mr. Hardinge," answered Rupert, coolly putting the note into his
wallet, "I will think of this request of poor Grace's, and if I can
possibly comply with her wishes, I will certainly do so. There is little
that she could ask that I would deny, and my effort will be to honour her
memory. As I see you are distressed, I will now retire; you shall know my
determination in a few days."

Rupert did retire, taking my note for $20,000 with him. I made no effort
to detain him, nor was I sorry to hear he had returned to the rectory to
pass the night, whither his sister went with him. The next day he
proceeded to New York, without sending me any message, retaining the note
however; and, a day or two later, I heard of him on his way to the springs
to rejoin the party of the Mertons.

John Wallingford left me the morning of the day after the funeral,
promising to see me again in town. "Do no forget the will, Miles," said
that singular man, as he shook my hand, "and be certain to let me see that
provision in it about Clawbonny, before I go west of the bridge, again.
Between relations _of the same name_, there should be no reserves in
such matters."