"Three thousand!"
Mrs. Lecount moved with impenetrable dignity from the table to the door.
"Four thousand!"
Mrs. Lecount gathered her shawl round her with a shudder, and opened the
door.
"Five thousand!"
He clasped his hands, and wrung them at her in a frenzy of rage and
suspense. "Five thousand" was the death-cry of his pecuniary suicide.
Mrs. Lecount softly shut the door again, and came back a step.
"Free of legacy duty, sir?" she inquired.
"No."
Mrs. Lecount turned on her heel and opened the door again.
"Yes."
Mrs. Lecount came back, and resumed her place at the table as if nothing
had happened.
"Five thousand pounds, free of legacy duty, was the sum, sir, which your
father's grateful regard promised me in his will," she said, quietly.
"If you choose to exert your memory, as you have not chosen to exert
it yet, your memory will tell you that I speak the truth. I accept your
filial performance of your father's promise, Mr. Noel--and there I stop.
I scorn to take a mean advantage of my position toward you; I scorn
to grasp anything from your fears. You are protected by my respect for
myself, and for the Illustrious Name I bear.
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