"He talks as if there was some worse calamity than
the calamity which has made them orphans." She paused once more; and
rallied her sinking courage. "I will not make your hard duty, sir, more
painful to you than I can help," she resumed. "Show me the place in the
will. Let me read it, and know the worst."
Mr. Pendril turned back to the first page, and pointed to a certain
place in the cramped lines of writing. "Begin here," he said.
She tried to begin; she tried to follow his finger, as she had followed
it already to the signatures and the dates. But her senses seemed to
share the confusion of her mind--the words mingled together, and the
lines swam before her eyes.
"I can't follow you," she said. "You must tell it, or read it to me."
She pushed her chair back from the table, and tried to collect herself.
"Stop!" she exclaimed, as the lawyer, with visible hesitation and
reluctance, took the papers in his own hand. "One question, first. Does
his will provide for his children?"
"His will provided for them, when he made it."
"When he made it!" (Something of her natural bluntness broke out in her
manner as she repeated the answer.) "Does it provide for them now?"
"It does not.
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