"
"Never mind what you suppose. Tell her that I wish to say a few words to
her upon particular business."
Luke Tulliver departed upon his errand, while Percival Nowell went into
the parlour, and seated himself before the dull neglected fire in the
lumbering old arm-chair in which his father had sat through the long
lonely evenings for so many years. Mr. Nowell the younger was not
disturbed by any sentimental reflections upon this subject, however; he
was thinking of his father's will, and the wrong which was inflicted upon
him thereby.
"To be cheated out of every sixpence by my own flesh and blood!" he
muttered to himself. "That seems too much for any man to bear."
The door was opened by a gentle hand presently, and Marian came into the
room. Percival Nowell rose from his seat hastily and stood facing her,
surprised by her beauty and an indefinable likeness which she bore to her
mother--a likeness which brought his dead wife's face back to his mind
with a sudden pang. He had loved her after his own fashion once upon a
time, and had grown weary of her and neglected her after the death of
that short-lived selfish passion; but something, some faint touch of the
old feeling, stirred his heart as he looked at his daughter to-night. The
emotion was as brief as the breath of a passing wind.
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