"I read my success in your face as you came towards this gate just now. It was the face of an acknowledged heir; and now, perhaps, you will be good enough to tell me your news." Reginald related all that had happened; the use he had made of Lydia Graham's malice; the interview with his uncle after Lady Eversleigh's return. "Good!" exclaimed Victor; "good from first to last! Did ever any scheme work so smoothly? That was a stroke of genius of yours, Reginald, the use you made of Miss Graham's evidence. And so she was watching us, was she? Charming creature! how little she knows to what an extent we are indebted to her. Well, Reginald, I congratulate you. It is a grand thing to be the acknowledged heir of such an estate as this." He glanced across the broad gardens, blazing with rich masses of vivid colour, produced by the artistic arrangement of the flower-beds. He looked up to the long range of windows, the terrace, the massive towers, the grand old archway, and then he looked back at his friend, with a sinister light in his glittering black eyes. "There is only one drawback," he said. "And that is--" "That you may have to wait a very long time for your inheritance. Let me see; your uncle is fifty years of age, I think?" "Yes; he is about fifty." "And he has an iron constitution. He has led a temperate, hardy life. Such a man is as likely to live to be eighty as I am to see my fortieth birthday. And that would give you thirty years' waiting: a long delay--a terrible trial of patience." "Why do you say these things?" cried Reginald, impatiently. "Do you want to make me miserable in the hour of our triumph? Do you mean that we have burdened our souls with all this crime and falsehood for nothing? You are mad, Victor!" "No; I am only in a speculative mood. Thirty years!--thirty years would be a long time to wait." "Who says that I shall have to wait thirty years? My uncle may die long before that time." "Ah! to be sure! your uncle may die--suddenly, perhaps--very soon, it may be. The shock of his wife's falsehood may kill him--after he has made a new will in your favour!" The two men stood face to face, looking at each other. "What do you mean?" Reginald asked; "and why do you look at me like that?" "I am only thinking what a lucky fellow you would be if this grief that has fallen upon your uncle were to be fatal to his life." "Don't talk like that, Carrington. I won't think of such a thing. I am had enough, I know; but not quite so bad as to wish my uncle dead." "You would be sorry if he were dead, I suppose? Sorry--with this domain your own! with all power and pleasure that wealth can purchase for a man! You would be sorry, would you? You wish well to the kind kinsman to whom you have been such a devoted nephew! You would prefer to wait thirty years for your heritage--if you should live so long!"