The Democratic advocate., 1908-02-07
Seleet Storp.
Uncle Jacobs Will.

The fire in the wide, old-fashioned fire.
place leaped and glowed and cast fantastic
shadows on the ceiling of the grimly fur
nished library The man in the massive
rocker leaned slightly forward, his chin in
his hand, deep in thought. Now and then
he smiled compassionately as ominous noises
from the rooms above indicated that the
searchers were still persistent. For him
the search was ended; the will reposed
safely i'll the breast pocket of his coat.
Somehow his cousins, the searchers,
imagined that the old uncle had bequeathed
his all to their branch of the family, in
which case the shares would be much more
substantial than if he had died intestate,
thus benefting that despised other branch,
the children of the dead man sister, The
young man in meditation before the fire
was member of that "other branch -
How they would rave, those precious
cousins of his, when they learned that
he, Richard Blake, was sole heir and lega-'
tee. Well, it would serve them right;
they were too grasping. And yet, were
they not excusable? They all had large
families and seemed very much in need.
He remembered that Cousin Johns wife
had on very shabby gloves, and her gown
was much worn and faded.
Then he fell to thinking of himself; Of
how much he would enjoy the old place;
of how he would enjoy taking up the life
of country squire where Uncle Jacob had
laid it down. And Amy would help him
to enjoy it. Amy, with her soft, dark
eyes and gentle manner, would make an
ideal wife for squire. And those others
would go on needing, more and more,
probably as the years rolled on. Amy
would always feel sorry for that; he knew
she would. Oh, if Uncle Jacob only had
died intestate- -if-he- only had He
sat upright in his chair with a start; the
thought was as sudden as it was quixotic,
glove p he whispered, "why not?'
With an equal share of the estate and his
own earnings as successful architect, he
need not fear for Amy and himself. They
would have enough; oh, quite enough.
The lawyer who drew up the will was dead;
the witnesses were scattered and would
probably never know.
"Why not?'' he whispered again.
He cast a hurried look about the room,
then drew the will from his pocket. He
spread it open and looked once more upon
his right, then laid it on the fire. The
flame fared up and lit the room with its
brilliancy. The portiere clicked and the
man turned to meet Amy's wonder-laden
eyes. Their glance wandered from his
face to the paper ON the fire. "Last Will
and Testament, stared at her in big bold
script. Like stricken thing she turned
and faced the man.
''You have burned your uncle's will r
she exclaimed, breathlessly.
The man nodded his head.
There was moment of impressive 81
lence, then the girl spoke again. There
was no anger in her voice, only deep,
heart wrung sorrow.
ssOh, l am grieved, grieved r she
moaned ''Ihad thought you so far above
such greed. Think ! think Richard,
what you have done; robbed your cousins
of their right Can't you speak p she
implored. sCan you say something in
exoneration of your action p
A stubborn anger awoke within the
man. IF Amy chose to think the worst of
him-well, let it be so.
81 have nothing to say, he replied
doggedly.
"Nothing to say = she could not stiae
the scorn that crept into her voice.
Nothing he repeated. "And |
suppose suppose need not hope
'sNo,' she said YEARLY, you need not
hope-after that. .
He bowed and left the room. The girl
controlled her feelings until she heard the
front door close, then kneeling by the
chair, where the man had sat, she sobbed
out her grief.
Presently she raised her head and looked
again at the evidence of her lovers crime.
A part of the document had been detached
by the draught of the fire and lay at the
edge of the CRATE, the heavy parchment
still glowing like coal, the writing vivid
ly distinct She looked at it indifferently
at first, then leaned forward eagerly. And,
because he has never harassed me, nor
sought to advise or influence me in any