The Wheeling daily register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1864-1878, 1869-03-10
HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
BY ANTHONY TRoLLoPE.
CHAPTER XXXY.
Continued

When Brooke went back to the house
in the Close, Miss Stanbury was quite
fussy in her silence. She would have
given much to have been told some
thing about Barty, and, above all, to
have learned what Barty had said about
herself But she was far too proud even
70 mention the old mans name of her
own accord. She was quite sure that
she had been abused. She guessed, pro-
baby with tolerable accuracy, the kind
of things that had been said of her, and
suggested to herself what answer Brooke
would make to such accusations. But
she had resolved to cloak it all in silence,
and pretended for awhile not to remem-
Der the Young mans declared intention
when he left the house. at seems odd
to me-" said Brooke, ''that Uncle Barty
should always live alone as he does.
He must have dreary time of it,"
81 don't know anything about your
Uncle Barty's manner OF living"
"No, l suppose not. You and he are
not friands."
"By no means, Brooke"
"He lives there all alone in that poky
bank house, and nobody ever goes near
him. l wonder whether he has any
friends in the cityi"
81 really cannot tell You anything
about his friends. And, to tell you the
truth, Brooke, l don't want to talk
about your uncle. OF course you can
20 to see him when you please, but I'd
rather you didn't tell me of your visits
afterwards"
"There is nothing in the world hate
so much as a secret" said he. He had
- -, nf Cd arfi i'm ~
upon Miss Stanbury's secret enmity, nor
had he purposed to ask any question as
to her relations with the old man. He
had alluded to his dislike of having
secrets of his own. But she misunder-
stood him.
"If you are anxious to know" she
said, becoming very red in the face.
81 am not at all curious to know.
You quite mistake me-"
"He has chosen to believe-or to say
that he believed-that / wronged him
in regard to his brothers will. nursed
his brother when he was dying,-as l
considered it to be MY duty to do. l
cannot tell you all that story. 1t is too
long and too sad. Romance is very pref
ty in novels, but the romance of life IS
always a melancholy matter. They are
most happy who have no story to tell"
al quite believe that"
"But your Uncle Barty chose to think
indeed, l hardly know what he
thought. He said that the will was a
will of my making. When it was made
/ and his brother were apart; we were
not even on speaking terms. There had
been quarrel and all manner of folly.
am not very proud when look back
upon it. 1t is not that | think myself
better than others; but your Uncle
Brooke's will was made before we had
come together again. When he was i'll,
IL was natural that should go to him,
after all that had passed between us.
Eth, Brooke"
at was womanly."
"But it made no difference about the
will. Mr.. Bartholomew Burgess might
have known that at once, and must
have known it afterwards. But he has
never acknowledged that he was wrong
never even yet"
"He could not bring himself to do
that, should say"
The will was no great triumph TO
me. l could have done without il. As
God is my judge, would not have lift
ed up my little finger to get either a
part or the whole of poor Brooks's
money. Ii had known that a word
would have dsne it, / would have bit.
ten my tongue out before it should have
been spoken" She had risen from her
seat, and was speaking with a solemn
" that. almost filled her listener with
awe. She was woman shsrt of stature;
Int now, as she stood over him, she
seemed to be tall and majestic. But
when the man was dead" she cOntiuu-
ed, land the will was there, the proper
ty was mine, and Was bound in duty
To exercise the privileges aud bear the
responsibilities which the dead man had
conferred upon me. 1t was Barty, then,
who sent low attorney to me, offering
me o compromise. What had | to com
promise! No. fit was not mine by all
the right the law could give, / would
sooner have starved than have had a
crust of bread out Of the money" She
had now clenched both her fists, and
was shaking them rapidly as she stood
over him, looking down upon him.
vi course 1t was your own"
les. Though they asked me TO CON-
promise and sent messages to me to
LIlgnten me,-both Barty and your
Uncle Iom; ay, and your father. too,
Brookej they did not dare to 90 to law.
To law, indeed! Ii ever there was n
good will in the world, the viii Of Tsnr
Uncle Brooke was good. Thew cenId
talk, and malign me, tell lies as to datas
and strive to make my name odions in
the county; but they knew that the
prill was oond They did nnt sro,sS
very we'll in what they did attempt"
81 would try to forgetit all now, Aunt
!Stanbury."
Forget it! How is that to be done
How eau the mind forget the history of
its own lifei No, cannot forget it. l
can forgive it,"
Then why not forgive it"
Il do. have. Why else are you