"Dear Mr. Balfour," said she, gently, "I am going to disobey you in once
more reopening the matter of your kind bequest. Something has happened
which has given the affair a wholly different aspect. Among the visitors
yesterday to that dreadful mine, to which people still flock, there was
a Mr. Stratum--a young engineer, it seems, of some reputation; and in
his researches in Wheal Danes they say he has hit upon a great treasure,
or what may turn out to be such."
"Ay," said Richard, with a smile; "what's that?"
"A copper lode. It is curious that so many folks should have come and
gone there and never found it before; but there it is, for certain. Mr.
Stratum has seen Charles, and tells him that he can hardly trust himself
to speak of its probable value."
"Well, I congratulate you, my dear, on being an heiress."
"Nay, my dear Mr. Balfour, but this must not be. Overborne by your kind
pressure I consented to receive this bequest--a considerable one in
itself, indeed--for what it was. I could not now take advantage of your
ignorance of its real value; it distresses me deeply to give you trouble
in your present sad condition, but you must see yourself that
circumstances compel me."
"Give me the will, my dear; it is in yonder drawer. Here is a letter
folded in it in my handwriting.
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