British -- Canada -- Fiction; Love stories; Ranchers -- Canada, Western -- Fiction
Allonby had, apparently, sufficient sense left in him to recognize that
any further observations he might feel inclined to make were scarcely
likely to be appreciated just then, and once more Brooke sat motionless,
with the letter in his hand, and the inclosures that had slipped from
his fingers strewn about the floor. He had been left with what any one
with simple tastes would have considered a moderate competence, at
least, in Canada, by the man he had quarrelled with, and he gathered
from the lawyer's letter that, if he wished it, there would be no
difficulty in at once realizing the property. It naturally amounted to
considerably more than the six thousand dollars he had sold his
self-respect for, and at the moment he was only sensible of a bitter
regret that the news had not come to hand a little earlier.
If that had happened, he would never have made the attempt upon the
papers, and might have broken with Saxton without the necessity for any
explanation with Devine. He had no doubt that the latter had acquainted
his wife and Barbara, which meant that he would be branded for ever as
rather worse than a thief in her eyes. The money which would have saved
him, and might have bought him happiness, was he felt, almost useless to
him now.
In the meanwhile, Allonby had turned to his own correspondence, and the
shanty was very still, save for the patter of the rain outside and the
doleful wailing of the pines. Brooke gazed at the letter he held with
vacant eyes, but though he scarcely seemed to notice his surroundings,
he could long afterwards recall them clearly--the litter of soil-stained
garments and mining boots, the crackling stove, the rain that flashed
through the stream of light outside the open door, and Allonby's haggard
face and wasted figure.
Then it occurred to him that there was a discrepancy between the time
when the will was made and that on which the news of it had been sent to
him, and as he stooped to pick up the papers from the floor, he came
upon a black-edged envelope. He recognized the writing, and, hastily
opening it, found it was from an English kinsman.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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