Mr. Hudsley allowed his keen eyes to rest on him for an instant, then slowly looked in the direction of Jack. "A most careful search," he repeated. Jack, feeling that the remark was addressed to him, nodded and looked at the lawn again. Mr. Hudsley cleared his throat, and opened the crackling parchment. There was an intense silence, so intense that Stephen's labored breathing could be heard as plainly as the rain on the windows. In the same dry, hard voice Mr. Hudsley began to read. Clause by clause, wrapped in the beautiful legal jargon in which such documents are, for some inscrutable reasons, worded, no one understanding the import, but suddenly familiar words struck upon the ear. They were the servants' legacies, and a mourning ring to Mr. Hudsley; then, in a stillness that was oppressive, there fell the words: "To my nephew, Stephen Davenant, I will the whole and sole remainder of all I possess, be it in lands or money, houses or securities, all and of every kind of property, deducting only the afore-mentioned legacies." A thrill ran through the assemblage, every eye turned, as if magnetized, to the white, death-like face of the heir. There he sat, the new squire, the owner of Hurst Leigh and the uncounted thousands of old Ralph Davenant, motionless, white, too benumbed to tremble. Slowly Mr. Hudsley read over the signatures, and then slowly commenced to fold the parchment. Then, from the shadow of the curtains, Jack emerged, pale, too, but with cool, calm dignity. Quite quietly, and with perfect self-possession, he came to the table and looked at the dry, wrinkled face. "So I understand, Mr. Hudsley, that the squire has left me--nothing." Mr. Hudsley looked up, no trace of expression on his face. "Quite right, Mr. Newcombe," he replied. "He has not named me," said Jack. "He has not named you in this will." Jack bowed, and was turning from the table when Stephen started to his feet. For one moment his eyes rested on Jack's face with an awful, piercing look of scrutiny, then his eyes lit up with a malicious gleam of triumph, but it disappeared instantly, and with a gesture of honest generosity and regret, he exclaimed: "Not named! My dear Jack! But stay! I see how it is. My uncle felt that he could trust to my feeling in the matter. He knew that you would not have to look to me in vain." Jack turned and looked at him with infinite contempt and unbelief, and then slowly passed out. CHAPTER XII. Two days passed since Una had given her promise that should Jack Newcombe come to seek her she would hold no converse with him. How much that promise had cost her no one could say; she herself did not know. She only knew that whereas her life had always seemed dull and purposeless, it had, since Jack Newcombe's visit, grown utterly dreary and joyless. Was it love? She did not ask herself the question. Had she done so, she could not have answered it.