“Then, what has influenced you?  Why have you done it?” demanded Mr. Bitterworth, his voice becoming more subdued.

To this question Mr. Verner did not immediately reply.  He appeared not to have done with the defence of his wife and her sons.

“Mrs. Verner is not of a covetous nature; she is not unjust, and I believe that she would wish the estate willed to Lionel, rather than to her sons.  She knows no good reason why it should not be willed to him.  And for those sons—­do you suppose either of them would have gone out to Australia, had he been cognisant that he was heir to Verner’s Pride?”

“Why have you willed it away from Lionel?”

“I cannot tell you,” replied Mr. Verner, in a tone of sharp pain.  It betrayed to Mr. Bitterworth what sharper pain the step itself must have cost.

“It is this which has been on your mind, Verner—­disturbing your closing years?”

“Ay, it is that; nothing else!” wailed Mr. Verner, “nothing else, nothing else!  Has it not been enough to disturb me?” he added, putting the question in a loud, quick accent.  “Setting aside my love for Lionel, which was great, setting aside my finding him unworthy, it has been a bitter trial to me to leave Verner’s Pride to a Massingbird.  I have never loved the Massingbirds,” he continued, dropping his voice to a whisper.

“If Lionel were unworthy,”—­with a stress upon the “were,”—­“you might have left it to Jan,” spoke Mr. Bitterworth.

“Lady Verner has thrown too much estrangement between Jan and me.  No.  I would rather even a Massingbird had it than Jan.”

“If Lionel were unworthy, I said,” resumed Mr. Bitterworth.  “I cannot believe he is.  How has he proved himself so?  What has he done?”

Mr. Verner put up his hands as if to ward off some imaginary phantom, and his pale face turned of a leaden hue.

“Never ask me,” he whispered.  “I cannot tell you.  I have had to bear it about with me,” he continued, with an irrepressible burst of anguish; “to bear it here, within me, in silence; never breathing a word of my knowledge to him, or to any one.”

“Some folly must have come to your cognisance,” observed Mr. Bitterworth; “though I had deemed Lionel Verner to be more free from the sins of hot-blooded youth than are most men.  I have believed him to be a true gentleman in the best sense of the word—­a good and honourable man.”

“A silent stream runs deep,” remarked Mr. Verner.

Mr. Bitterworth drew his chair nearer to his friend, and, bending towards him, resumed solemnly—­

“Verner’s Pride of right (speaking in accordance with our national notions) belonged to your brother, Sir Lionel.  It would have been his, as you know, had he lived but a month or two longer; your father would not have willed it away from him.  After him it would have been Lionel’s.  Sir Lionel died too soon, and it was left to you; but what injunction from your father accompanied it?  Forgive my asking you the question, Stephen.”