“Will you read that, sir?” I asked, “It will make you understand more quickly than I can, I am so confused.”

He read it, then held out his hand to me.

“I congratulate you,” he said.  “Your poor father, the last time I saw him, spoke to me of his rich cousin.  He never expected this.  Sir Barnard had two fine, strong, healthy sons of his own then.”

“My father could not have expected it less than myself.  I have hardly ever heard the name of Crown Anstey, and did not know that it was entailed property.  I shall have to ask you to let me go this afternoon, sir.”

He was perfectly willing, I was only at the office an hour, yet the news seemed to have spread.  I promised the clerks a dinner when I returned, then once more I stood in the street, alone.

My brain was dizzy, my thoughts in a whirl.  I remember taking a cab and driving to a shop into which I had often looked with longing eyes.  I bought wine, grapes, peaches, flowers, dainty jellies—­everything that I thought most likely to please my sister—­and then drove home.  I had resolved that I would not tell my good fortune to Clare all at once, lest there should be some fatal mistake unforeseen by any one.  She looked up astonished when I entered the room, my arms full of fruit and flowers.

“Oh, Edgar!” she cried, “you have ruined yourself.  Why you must have spent your whole week’s money!”

I forgot now what fiction I told here—­something of a friend of my father, who had left me a little money, and that I was going away that same evening on business.

“Shall you be long?” she asked, with so sad a face I did not like to leave her.

“Two or three days at the outside,” I told her.  Then I took twenty golden sovereigns from my purse and laid them before her, begging her not to want for anything while I was away.

She looked almost alarmed at such a quantity of money.

“Twenty pounds, Edgar!” she cried.  “How rich we are!” And I thought to myself, “if she only knew!”

Then I went into my own room, and my first action was to thank God for this wonderful benefit.  I thanked Him with streaming eyes and grateful heart, making a promise—­which I have never broken—­that I would act as steward of these great riches, and not forget the needy and the poor.

At five o’clock I started for Thornycroft, the nearest town to Crown Anstey.  The journey was not a very long one, but I took no heed of time.  Was it all a dream, or was I in reality going to take possession of a new and magnificent home?

I reached the station—­it was a large one.  Thornycroft seemed to be a thriving town.  No one was there to meet me.  I went to the nearest hotel and ordered a carriage to Crown Anstey.

I can recall even now my ecstasy of bewilderment at the splendid woods, the beautiful park, the pleasure gardens.  How long was it since I had felt tears rush warm to my eyes at the scent of the violets?  Here were lime trees and lindens, grand old oaks, splendid poplars, beech trees, cedars, magnolias with luscious blossom, hawthorn, white and pink larches budding, and all were mine—­mine.  Then from between the luxuriant foliage I saw the tall, gray towers of a stately mansion, and my whole heart went out to it as my future home.