“They all now gathered round him, partly in terror and partly in consolation,--all anxious to disclose to him the tidings with which their hearts were burdened, yet fearful lest the freight might be too much for the frail vessel that rocked and reeled before them, as if the next breeze would be like a tempest to it. At last it burst forth from the priest, who, by the necessities of his profession, was ignorant of domestic feelings, and of the felicities and agonies which are inseparably twined with the fibres of conjugal and parental hearts. He knew nothing of what Walberg might feel as a husband or father,--for he could never be either; but he felt that good news must be good news, into whatever ears they were poured, or by whatever lips they might be uttered. “We have the will,” he cried abruptly, “the true will of Guzman. The other was--asking pardon of God and the saints for saying so--no better than a forgery. The will is found, and you and your family are heirs to all his wealth. I was coming to acquaint you, late as it was, having with difficulty obtained the Superior’s permission to do so, and in my way I met this old man, whom your son was conducting,--how came he out so late?” At these words Walberg was observed to shudder with a brief but strong spasm. “The will is found!” repeated the priest, perceiving how little effect the words seemed to have on Walberg,--and he raised his voice to its utmost pitch. “The will of my uncle is found,” repeated Everhard. “Found,--found,--found!” echoed the aged grandfather, not knowing what he said, but vaguely repeating the last words he heard, and then looking round as if asking for an explanation of them. “The will is found, love,” cried Ines, who appeared restored to sudden and perfect consciousness by the sound; “Do you not hear, love? We are wealthy,--we are happy! Speak to us, love, and do not stare so vacantly,--speak to us!” A long pause followed. At length,--“Who are those?” said Walberg in a hollow voice, pointing to the figures before him, whom he viewed with a fixed and ghastly look, as if he was gazing on a band of spectres. “Your son, love,--and your father,--and the good friendly priest. Why do you look so doubtfully on us?”--“And what do they come for?” said Walberg. Again and again the import of their communication was told him, in tones that, trembling with varied emotion, scarce could express their meaning. At length he seemed faintly conscious of what was said, and, looking round on them, uttered a long and heavy sigh. They ceased to speak, and watched him in silence.--“Wealth!--wealth!--it comes too late. Look there,--look there!” and he pointed to the room where his children lay.