them
both aside. "Wait in the corridor, my children," she said: "none but God
and Sandal must hear my farewell." With the words, she closed the door,
and went to the dying man. He appeared to be unconscious; but she took
his hand, stroked it kindly, and bending down whispered, "William,
William Sandal! Do you know me?"

"Surely it is Ducie. It is growing dark. We must go home, Ducie. Eh?
What?"

"William, try and understand what I say. You will go the happier to
heaven for my words." And, as they grew slowly into the squire's
apprehension, a look of amazement, of gratitude, of intense
satisfaction, transfigured the clay for the last time. It seemed as if
the departing soul stood still to listen. He was perfectly quiet until
she ceased speaking; then, in a strange, unearthly tone, he uttered one
word, "Happy." It was the last word that ever parted his lips. Between
shores he lingered until the next daybreak, and then the loving
watchers saw that the pallid wintry light fell on the dead. How peaceful
was the large, worn face! How tranquil! How distant from them! How
grandly, how terribly indifferent! To Squire William Sandal, all the
noisy, sorrowful controversies of earth had grown suddenly silent.

The reading of the squire's will made public the real condition of
affairs. Julius had spoken with the lawyer previously, and made clear to
him his right in equity to stand in the heir's place. But the squires
and statesmen of the Dales heard the substitution with muttered
dissents, or in a silence still more emphatic of disapproval. Ducie and
Mrs. Sandal and Charlotte were shocked and astounded at the revelation,
and there was not a family in Sandal-Side who had that night a good word
for Julius Sandal. He thought it very hard, and said so. He had not
forced Harry in any way. He had taken no advantage of him. Harry was
quite satisfied with the exchange, and what had other people to do with
his affairs? He did not care for their opinion. "That for it!" and he
snapped his fingers defiantly to every point of the compass. But, all
the same, he walked the floor of the east rooms nearly all night, and
kept Sophia awake to listen to his complaints.

Sophia was fretful and sleepy, and not as sympathetic with "the soul
that halved her own," as centuries of fellow-feeling might have claimed;
but she had her special worries. She perceived, even thus early, that as
long as the late squire's widow was in the Seat, her own authority