‘Philip,’ said Aunt Olive slowly, ‘I believe that is just what your father meant to do. I believe he meant to confide in me at the last. I was timid, and he knew such a secret would be a burden to me if I had to keep it long; but I am convinced he meant to tell me at his death. But his death came suddenly; it was a stroke, you know, and in a few hours all was over. He could not bear your uncle near him, and though he could not speak, he made it plain that he would not have him in the room. Then he tried—oh, so hard—to tell me something, and he could only stammer and stutter; and he tried to write, but he could not; and then he tried to tell me again, and grew so distressed and agitated that I had to pretend I understood, and that calmed him again. Philip, I am convinced he was trying to tell me of that will. At the time I had no idea of such a thing; but afterwards, when I was calm, when I was not in such distress of mind, and could think the matter over, I became certain it must have been that. But it was too late then. Your uncle has been over all the papers: nothing could have escaped him. Your poor father’s writing-table was hacked to pieces; they said it was old, and only fit for firewood. I believe it was to find every paper that was there. I know it had secret drawers; probably in one the will was found. Oh, Phil, it is a scandalous shame! but unless Maud marries Lewis, her fortune will go to enrich the Belassis family. What is to be done? How ought we to counsel the dear girl for the best?’ ‘It seems to me,’ said Tor slowly, as he paced to and fro in the dusk, ‘after what I have heard to-night, that for no reason whatever ought Maud Debenham to marry Lewis Belassis.’ Aunt Olive looked down and sighed. To Tor’s ears it sounded like a sigh of approval and satisfaction. CHAPTER IX. TORWOOD’S TENANT. The little town of Whitbury was considered by its inhabitants to be the pleasantest place in the world.