To Mrs. Oliphant her mother had left the income to be derived from “securities to the value of two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars, these securities to be held in trust for her.” Mrs. Oliphant was to have the income from them during her life, but she could not sell them or give them away, though she was left at liberty to bequeath them to whom she pleased. And the rest of the estate, much the greater part of it, was left without condition—and also without defining him as “dearly and well-beloved”—to her grandson, Harlan, the residuary legatee. “Good Lord!” Harlan said loudly, and, without further explanation of his feelings, sat staring blankly at the wall opposite him. Wiping her eyes, Mrs. Oliphant looked at Dan; and her husband also turned in that direction. “Dan, old fellow,” he began, in a distressed voice, “you mustn’t think——” But Lena interrupted him. She jumped up from her chair, and her cheeks and temples were alive with a colour that outdid all the extraneous tinting her grandmother-in-law had so hated. “This is aimed at _me_!” she cried. “I understand perfectly the real meaning of that precious document! Heaven knows why, but she must have disliked me before Dan ever brought me here! She showed spite at her first sight of me, and tried to hurt me, and did hurt me. And now she cuts us off with nothing and gives it all to Harlan just to show she thought that all I care about is money—yes, and to prove she can still injure me and insult me even after she’s dead!” But here the hot little voice was choked with anger and tears;—she ran to the door. “What _are_ such people?” she sobbed, stopping there for a moment, and addressing to the upper air of the room this inquiry of passionate wonderment. “Oh, my heavens! What _are_ these people I’ve got to spend my life among?” Then she ran through the hall and up the stairs, sobbing more and more uncontrollably, and audible below until the vigorous action of her splendidly constructed bedroom door produced a sonorous climax, followed by instantaneous silence. Dan had risen, apparently intending to follow her, but he paused as his father spoke to him. “I believe I wouldn’t, if I were you, Dan.” “Wouldn’t what, sir?” “I think I’d just let her alone to have it out with herself. I’ve noticed it seems to work better, she gets herself in hand sooner that way.” “Yes, sir,” Dan said, and moved to depart. “Wait just a minute. I think your mother has something she wants to say to you.” Mrs. Oliphant, who was holding her handkerchief to her eyes, had made a slight gesture, which her husband thus interpreted, and Dan turned back quickly and stood before her. “What is it, mother?” She caught his hand and held it, speaking brokenly: “You—you mustn’t think——Mother loved you—she _did_! She—she left it so that _I_ could always—always take care of you, if you—if you needed it. She didn’t mean anything unkind to you.”