‘I fancy, Mr. Belassis, that you could answer such a question better than I; for it was you, not I, that had the handling of my father’s papers on his death.’ Belassis grew livid about the lips. ‘Do you mean to accuse me of suppressing a will?’ he asked, in a quaking voice. ‘I accuse you of nothing, because I know nothing. I am merely informing you of a suspicion of mine, which is, that a later will was made, which has never seen the light. If that will ever fell into your hands, I am convinced it never will see the light now.’ Mr. Belassis sat silent, glaring at his audacious nephew; but he did not fly into a passion or attempt to carry war into the enemy’s quarter. ‘He knows something about it,’ said Tor to himself, ‘or he would not tamely submit to be accused of crime. I wonder what he has done with it—destroyed it most likely—certain to do that. I wonder who were the witnesses; but that would prove nothing. Phil’s father might have destroyed it himself—there would be no case. What a shame it all is! However, I think I can make that old rascal pretty thoroughly uncomfortable.’ ‘You do not deny my suspicion, I notice, sir,’ he said aloud. Belassis made a ghastly attempt at a smile, and then assumed an air of dignity strangely at variance with the expression of his face. ‘I say nothing, Philip, because I have no wish to quarrel, and because I feel sure when you come to think the matter over, you will be sorry for your words, and be ready to do me justice. Let us forget they were ever spoken. I can forgive them, because I know that they were prompted by a natural, brotherly jealousy for a sister’s rights; but they were very ill-advised, Philip, and will, I trust, never be repeated.’ ‘Well,’ said Tor rather significantly, ‘I do not imagine much good will come of a repetition, and at present it is certainly useless to discuss such a subject. Shall we return to the question from which we started? I asked you why you are so very anxious for Maud’s marriage with your son, seeing that in any case he obtains a large share of her fortune, and that the marriage will only bring him in five thousand more. Maud will cost him more than five thousand. He will be a richer man if he remains single, and might then marry an heiress into the bargain. You know all this as well as I do. Why, therefore, are you so anxious for the match?’ Mr. Belassis’ face had been purple before; now it regained its livid tint. ‘Young man,’ he said sententiously, ‘I fear you have been taking too much wine; your tone is becoming most offensive. Why do I wish my son to marry your sister? For the best possible reason: because I love the girl as if she were my own, and wish her to be no loser because of her father’s romantic attachment to myself and my family.’