“Is there no later will?” he said; “nothing made since the late sad changes in the family? no codicil? He might have made some memorandum, perhaps, of what he wanted to be done in the present melancholy case.” “Nothing at all,” said Mr. Smeaton; “it was not a case to be foreseen. Such a thing, I daresay, never entered into his head. Since both are gone, this poor little fellow must, of course, be named heir of entail, and guardians appointed--unless his father has appointed guardians.” “Not likely, not likely,” said Mr. Charles; and both of the gentlemen looked at Matilda, who, thinking that she had done something wrong, hid her face in her handkerchief. This produced, as Verna expected, the most excellent effect. “Poor young creature!” they said to each other. “It is too much for her, and no wonder.” “Miss Bassett,” Mr. Charles added, gently, “perhaps you could rouse your sister a little to the necessities of her position. You know that in consequence of the death of my two nephews, Tom and Charlie, all the bulk of the property goes to that poor infant at your feet. Poor little man! You understand me? I daresay you have not thought on the subject, either of you. Poor little Tommy is the actual proprietor of Pitcomlie. It will be a great responsibility for his mother. Do you think you can make her understand?” Matilda’s handkerchief, which she held to her face, was violently jerked by the start she gave. There are some minds which are quick to self-interest, though dull to most things else. Mrs. Charles was of slow intelligence, but she heard and understood this. For a moment she made an effort to obey her sister; but then nature got the better of her. She flung the handkerchief on the floor, and appeared from under it, flushed and tearless. “What!” she cried, with a suppressed but sharp scream. The reality of her voice amid this subdued and conventional quiet, roused them all up like a flash of lightning; and Verna herself, for the moment, was too much overcome to interfere. “Did she not know?” said Mr. Smeaton, aside, to Mr. Charles. “The fact is, the deaths of your brother-in-law and your husband, Mrs. Charles, have left your little boy the actual proprietor of Pitcomlie. Had I supposed that you did not know, I would have broken the news more gently--” “Tommy!” cried his mother. “Tommy! Do you mean it all belongs to us--all? this house, and the money, and everything? Oh, Tommy! Are you sure--are you quite sure? Can’t you be making a mistake? These things so often turn out to be mistakes; I should not like to believe it, and then find out it was not true.” Verna advanced with a warning air; but her sister pushed her away. “Let me alone, Verna; it is my business and Tommy’s. Please go on, go on. I can understand everything. Oh! make haste and tell me! All Tommy’s!--and Tommy, of course, mine, being but a baby. Is it true?” “It is true, so far as Tommy is concerned,” said the lawyer, with a smile; “but for his mother--”