The deceased baronet was buried in the family vault under St. Peter's Church, with all the pomp of wealth. Sir Simon had never been popular, and had been known widely as a hard, gripping man. Yet his tragic fate, and a certain pity therefore, had drawn together a large concourse of people. Distant relatives who hoped to be mentioned in the will were present clothed in deepest black, although they cared very little for the dead. Julius, who already regarded himself as in possession of Gore Hall, was there with a long face and a satisfied heart. He was glad that he had inherited the wealth after which he had long hungered, and gladder still that his rival, Bernard, was dead with a stain on his name. In fancied security he moved along, not knowing what retribution was in store for him. Even the pitying angels must have laughed at his complacency.

Durham, as the solicitor and executor of the dead man, was present and directed operations. Conniston had gone to Cove Castle to see Bernard and hear his story; and Durham smiled as his eyes rested on the smug face of the presumed heir. There was no love lost between the two men, and Julius privately determined that, when in possession of the property, he would place the legal business in the hands of another solicitor. The young lawyer guessed somewhat of this, and smiled ironically as he thought how this spite would be frustrated.

From far and near people were gathered, for the murder had made a great stir. Everyone united in condemning Bernard, and not one person in the throng thought him innocent. Lucy was weeping alone at the Hall, with Mrs. Gilroy offering her such cold comfort as she could think of. For the girl was truly sorry for her cousin, although she believed him to be guilty. But her theory was that Bernard had been goaded into committing the rash act by the bitter tongue of his grandfather. It was a matter of disagreement between her and Julius that she should so mourn the downfall and death of Bernard. He reprovingly advised her to keep her tears for Sir Simon, from whose death both were likely to derive benefit. But Lucy, in spite of Beryl's evil influence, which had rather warped her better nature, persisted in weeping for the miserable cousin who had so suddenly been cut off in the midst of his wickedness. At least that—in the face of circumstances—was the view she took of the matter.

And Alice remained at The Bower, talking over the death with Miss Plantagenet. Her joy, when the old lady returned with the good news that Bernard was yet alive, had been painful to witness. She wished to go at once to Cove Castle, but this Miss Berengaria, by Durham's advice, would not permit. Suspicion might be excited, so it was decided that Conniston himself should visit his own castle, as that would seem a natural thing for him to do. The merest suspicion that Bernard was alive and in hiding would set the bloodhounds of the law on the trail, and Beryl would be the first to loosen them. Therefore, Alice waited at home with Miss Berengaria until the funeral was over. Then they intended to go to the Hall to hear the will read. Miss Berengaria had some idea of the punishment that awaited Julius, and would not have been absent for half of her income. She detested the young man with all the virulence of her honest nature. And she insisted on Alice coming also, although the girl was unwilling. This again was by Durham's advice. He wanted both ladies to understand exactly how matters stood. It would save him the trouble of an explanation. And then, since he and the two ladies and Conniston were bent upon proving Bernard's innocence, Durham wanted all who could be spared—which did not include Conniston to be present, so as to daunt Bernard's enemies. Should Julius lose his temper over the will, it was probable that he might say something likely to afford a clue to the true assassin. And then Mrs. Gilroy was an enemy also, and she might be unguarded in her speech. Durham had a vague idea that both knew more than they admitted. As to Lucy, it was impossible to say whether she was friendly or hostile.

Sir Simon's body was duly interred, and he left all his wealth behind him to take up his abode in the dark vault. After the service several people lingered in the graveyard, but the majority, thinking the spectacle was at an end, made haste to go. Julius with Durham returned in the carriage, and the rest of the relatives followed, flocking like vultures to the feast. While in the carriage Durham thought he would see if Julius suspected that Bernard had escaped.

"You have not heard if Gore's body has been found?" he asked.

"No," said Beryl, raising his pale eyes and looking as sad as any owl. "I fear he is dead in his sin."

"You can't be sure if he did sin, Mr. Beryl."

"The jury thought so."

"A jury is not always infallible!"

"I think the case had a fair hearing, Mr. Durham. So far as I am concerned I should have been pleased had the verdict been otherwise. It is not pleasant for me to have a relative accused of such a crime. But since he is dead let his evil rest with him. You will not hear me say a word against his memory," added the virtuous Julius.

"Perhaps it will be as well," replied Durham, dryly. "You never were a friend of Bernard's."

"All the more praise to me that I should not run him down."

"Tell me, Beryl, do you really believe he committed the crime?"

"I answered that indirectly before. Yes, I believe he was guilty."

"Then it is just as well he is dead."

"Just as well," asserted Beryl, quickly.

"You don't think he can have escaped?"

Julius started. "What makes you think so?" he demanded uneasily.

"Well, you see, Bernard was a good swimmer, and—"

"The best swimmer in the world could do nothing against the current of the Thames on a foggy night. On a fine day I dare say he might have gained the opposite bank, but in the fog he must have circled round and round until he was exhausted."

"Yet, his clothes were discovered on the bank," persisted Durham. "I wonder if I offered a reward, would anything be discovered?"

"His corpse might," said Beryl, unpleasantly, "but no reward shall be offered. Better let sleeping dogs lie."

"But surely, Mr. Beryl, if you inherit the property, you will seek for the poor fellow's dead body?"

"No," replied Julius decisively. "I think it is best to leave things alone. Bernard committed a vile act, and if his body has been swept out to sea all the better for his memory and the position of the family. I shall offer no reward."

Durham, seeing the young man was absolutely certain of his inheritance, and that he was prepared to act in a most niggardly spirit, looked out of the window to hide a smile. "Poor Sir Bernard," he said.

"Sir Bernard?" questioned the supposed heir, raising his eyebrows.

"Certainly. On the death of Sir Simon, Bernard took the title!"

"He hasn't enjoyed it long," said Beryl, with so villainous a sneer that the lawyer longed to pitch him out of the carriage, "and seeing he is dead I suppose the title becomes extinct."

"It does," assented Durham gravely. "Bernard was the only heir in the direct line."

Julius shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I'll be quite content with the money," said he.

"Here we are," said Durham, as the carriage stopped. "By the way, Miss Plantagenet and Miss Malleson have come to hear the will read. I hope you don't object."

"Yes, I do," retorted Beryl, angrily, as he alighted. "They would have shown better taste had they remained away."

"But remember Miss Malleson has lost Bernard."

"All the better for her. She would have had a miserable life with that fellow."

Durham suppressed a violent inclination to punch the man's head, but, knowing what punishment awaited him, he walked up the steps with a contemptuous smile. Here was a change indeed from the meek Julius of the old days. This presumed heir was obnoxious and insolent, thinking he was absolutely certain of entering into his kingdom. The lawyer was by no means a vindictive person, but it afforded him a certain amount of satisfaction when he thought of the irony of the situation.

However, when Julius reached the drawing room, in which those invited to hear the will read were assembled, he adopted a more conciliatory manner. Several relatives were present, and Mrs. Gilroy headed the servants at the end of the room. Miss Berengaria sat beside Alice in a recess somewhat screened by the window curtain. But Lucy was nowhere to be seen. However, when Durham took his seat at a small table and opened his bag, she entered in deep mourning. Julius went to meet her.

"Dear Lucy," he said, "we have buried our best friend."

Lucy made no reply, and, drawing her hand away, walked to where Alice was seated. She kissed the girl, whom Bernard had loved, in silence; and in silence was the kiss returned. Even Miss Berengaria, voluble as she was on all occasions, held her peace. She saw that Lucy was sincerely sorry for the loss of her cousin, and from that moment she entertained a better opinion of her. Alice drew Lucy into a seat beside her, and the two girls sat side by side, while Julius, already assuming the airs of a master, bade the company welcome.

"I am glad to see you all," he said in an important voice, "and I am sure that our deceased relative in his will has done all that his kind heart inspired him to do. Mr. Durham will now read the will."

When he sat down some of the relatives smiled at the phrase about a kind heart, for which the late baronet had been in no wise remarkable. Durham took no notice of Beryl's little speech, but opened the will and began to read. Julius listened with a complacent smile, which changed as the reading went on.

Legacies were left to nearly all the servants who had been with the testator a long time. Lucy became entitled to three hundred a year, and Mrs. Gilroy received one hundred. The sum allotted to her did not satisfy her, as she frowned when it was mentioned. Beryl's name was not mentioned, but he did not mind as he was waiting for the disposal of the residue of the estate. But when Durham read out that the estate had been left entirely to Bernard Gore, with the exceptions of the above-named legacies, he started to his feet.

"That is not the will!" he exclaimed loudly, and with a ghastly white face. "I am the heir."

"By a former will," interposed Durham, "or, rather, I should say, by a will which Sir Simon afterwards destroyed."

"He disinherited Bernard!" cried Julius savagely.

"No! the will—this will—which gives Mr. Gore the money was never cancelled."

"A new will was prepared leaving all to me. You read it to me yourself in your office and in the presence of Sir Simon."

"Quite so," rejoined the lawyer, smoothly folding up the parchment; "but after you left, Sir Simon, refusing to execute that will, put it into the fire."

"It is a lie!"

"It is the truth," said Durham, his color rising. "I can bring forward my clerks who were to witness the new will, and they will state that it was never executed. Sir Simon changed his mind. The estate goes to Sir Bernard Gore, the new baronet, and as the executor of the will, I will take charge of all monies and of the property until he comes forward to claim them."

"But you know he is dead," said Julius, clenching his hand.

"I know nothing of the sort. He is supposed to be dead, but we must have proof of the death. A production of his body will be sufficient, Mr. Beryl," added Durham, cynically. "I think on your own account you had better offer that reward I spoke of."

"You have been playing the fool with me," said Julius, hardly able to speak for passion.

"No, I advised you what to do!"

"One moment," said a precise man who had not been mentioned in the will. "If young Gore really is dead—which I for one, hope is not the case—who inherits the money?"

"There is a codicil to that effect," said Durham, "which I had intended to read when interrupted by Mr. Beryl." He re-opened the parchment. "In it Sir Simon leaves the property to charity with the exception of any legacies. This in the event of Bernard Gore making no will. But the property has been left unreservedly to him, and, should he be alive, he has the power to will it to whomsoever he wishes."

"And if he is dead the property goes to a charity."

"Yes! I will read the codicil!" and this Durham did to the dismay of the company. Only Miss Berengaria chuckled. She was delighted to see that Beryl had been punished, and smiled when she thought how correct had been her guess when talking to the lawyer. As for Alice, remembering that Bernard was alive and well, she found it hard to contain her satisfaction that he had been fairly dealt with. Even the thought of the crime, under the ban of which he lay, faded for the moment from her mind. Julius, with a certain malignancy, brought it back to her recollection.

"Even if Bernard is not dead he cannot inherit as a felon," said he.

"Pardon me," interposed the lawyer. "You have yet to prove his guilt."

"It was proved at the inquest."

"A jury at an inquest has not the right to condemn a man," said Durham, sharply. "If Sir Bernard"—Julius winced at the title—"is alive and comes forward, I shall do my best to prove his innocence."

"And in any case," said Miss Berengaria in clear tones, "Mr. Beryl does not benefit."

Julius turned on her with fury, and seemed on the point of breaking out into wrathful speech. But his habitual dissimulation came to his aid, and he suppressed himself. More than that, he attempted to smile.

"I don't say that I do not feel hurt," he said, with a desperate attempt at cheerfulness. "Sir Simon distinctly named me as his heir, and, moreover, asked Mr. Durham to read the new will in which I was named as such."

"Perfectly true," said Durham, coldly. "But Sir Simon changed his mind and burnt the new will. It was never executed, as I say."

"Sir Simon had every right to do what he liked with his own," said the diplomatic Beryl, while Miss Berengaria, wondering what was in his mind, watched him with her keen eyes. "But, as I say, I am hurt. I quite understood that Sir Simon had disinherited my cousin, but I was prepared to allow him an income had I received the property."

"Two hundred a year," said the lawyer. "A munificent offer."

"It was approved by Sir Simon," said Julius, calmly. "However, it appears that Sir Simon rescinded the new will—"

"It was never executed."

"Then we will say he never executed it. The money goes to Bernard Gore. So far as I believe he is dead, but I hope Mr. Durham, as the executor of the estate, will offer a reward to prove if he is dead or alive.

"With regard to the commission of the crime, the jury at the inquest found Bernard guilty without one dissenting voice. However, I am willing to give my cousin the benefit of the doubt, and should he reappear (and I hope he may) I shall do my best to aid him to prove his innocence. I hope any words that may have escaped me in the heat caused by a disappointment will be overlooked."

Whether any of those present believed this statement it is impossible to say. Everyone looked down and no response was made, save by Miss Plantagenet. She rose, and walking across the room, offered her hand to the disappointed heir. "You are a good young man," she said heartily. "And I hope you will come and see me."

Julius, rather taken aback by this invitation from one whom he had cause to think loved him but little, grasped her hand and thanked her with great fervency. Her speech was a relief to him, and he sat down with a calmer face, when the old lady returned to her seat.

"Why did you do that, aunt?" asked Alice, dismayed.

"My dear," whispered Miss Berengaria, with a grim smile, "that young man means mischief. I am taking Mr. Durham's advice and making friends with him, that I may thwart his plans."

This was whispered so softly that Lucy did not overhear. Nor, had it been spoken aloud, would she have attended. Durham had come forward and was speaking earnestly to her.

"I trust you will stop at the Hall for the present," he said, "until Bernard comes home."

"Will Bernard ever come home?" asked Lucy, sighing.

"Let us hope so. I doubt if he is dead, and I will not believe he is until his body is laid before me. As to the crime, I do not believe he committed it. However, I want you to stay here as the chatelaine of the Hall. All things will go on as before."

"Am I to stay, sir?" asked Mrs. Gilroy, coming forward.

"Yes! nor will the servants be changed. Of course, any of them who wish to leave can do so. But you—"

"I will stop on in my old position, if Miss Randolph wishes."

Lucy nodded. "Yes! let all things remain as they were," she said.

Mrs. Gilroy made a stiff curtsey and returned to the other servants, who then filed in an orderly manner out of the room. The relatives also took their leave, amongst them Julius, now smiling. At the door Lucy said something to him about Bernard. He smiled darkly.

"We have yet to prove that Bernard is alive," he said.

"Danger!" thought Miss Berengaria. "I'll watch you, young man."