“He told me so,” she continued.

“He did?  When?” Howard asked, and Eloise replied, “I asked him, and his eyes looked yes, and when I said, ‘You are my grandfather?’ I was very sure he nodded.  I know he meant it.”

The lawyer smiled and answered her, “That is something, but not enough.  We must have a will or some document.  He might have been your mother’s father.  I think he was; and still, she may not be—­be—­”

He hesitated, for Eloise’s eyes were fixed upon him, and the hot blood of shame was crimsoning her face.  After a moment he continued, “A will can set things right; or, if we can prove a marriage, all will be fair sailing for your mother and you.”

“I was not thinking of myself,” Eloise returned.  “I am thinking of mother.  I know all the dreadful gossip and everything.  Mrs. Biggs has told me, and I am going to find out.  Somebody knows, and I shall find them.”

She looked very fearless as she left the room, and Howard felt that she would be no weak antagonist if he wanted to contest his right to the estate.  But he didn’t, he told himself, and Mr. Ferris, too.  He was willing to abide by the law.  If there was a will he’d like to find it; and, in any case, should be generous to Amy and—­Eloise!

“No doubt of it,” the lawyer said, looking at him now over his spectacles, and taking a second pinch of snuff preparatory to the search among the dead man’s papers, which Howard suggested that he make.

Every place Howard had gone through was gone through again,—­every paper unfolded and every envelope looked into.  There was no will or scrap of writing bearing upon Amy.  There were some receipts from Tom Hardy, of Palatka, for money received from the Colonel and paid over to Eudora Harris, and at these the lawyer looked curiously.

“Harris was the name Amy sometimes went by before her marriage, I believe,” he said.  “Eudora was probably her mother.  Now, if we can find Tom Hardy we may learn something.  Shall I write to Palatka and inquire?”

“Certainly,” Howard replied, with a choke in his throat which he managed to hide from the lawyer.

He didn’t mean to be a scoundrel.  He only wanted his own, and he meant to do right if chance made him master of Crompton, he said to himself, as he went to the drawing-room, where Jack and Eloise were sitting with a few friends who seemed to be waiting for something.  Ruby and Mrs. Biggs, who, on the strength of their intimacy with Eloise, had remained in the house while the family was at the grave, were there, evidently expectant.  It was not Howard’s idea to broach the subject at once.  He wanted to talk it over with Jack and Eloise, and make himself right with them.  The lawyer had no such scruples.  He had read wills after many funerals, and now that there was none to read, he spoke up: 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry I can’t oblige you, but there ain’t any will as we can find, and nothing to show who Mrs. Amy is, and matters must rest for a spell as they are.  Meanwhile, Mr. Howard Crompton, as the Colonel’s nephew and only known heir, must take charge of things.”