he story is an old and long one--and the
property, which in all justice should have been divided between us,
went entirely to him. But he was a good fellow in the main and saw
the injustice of his father's will as clearly as I did, and years
ago made one on his own account bequeathing me the whole estate in
case he left no issue, or that issue died. Veronica was his only
child; Veronica has died; therefore the old house is mine and all
that goes with it, all that goes with it."

There was the miser's gloating in this repetition of a phrase
sufficiently expressive in itself, or rather the gloating of a man
who sees himself suddenly rich after a life of poverty. There was
likewise a callousness as regarded his niece's surprising death
which I considered myself to have some excuse for noticing.

"You accept her death very calmly," I remarked. "Probably you
knew her to be possessed of an erratic mind."

He was about to bestow an admonitory kick on his dog, who had been
indiscreet enough to rise at his master's first move, but his foot
stopped in mid air, in his anxiety to concentrate all his attention
on his answer.

"I am a man of few sentimentalities," he coldly averred. "I have
loved but one person in my whole life. Why then should I be expected
to mourn over a niece who did not care enough for me to invite me
to her wedding? It would be an affectation unworthy the man who has
at last come to fill his rightful position in this community as the
owner of the great Moore estate. For great it shall be," he
emphatically continued. "In three years you will not know the house
over yonder. Despite its fancied ghosts and death-dealing fireplace,
it will stand A Number One in Washington. I, David Moore, promise you
this; and I am not a man to utter fatuous prophecies. But I must be
missed over there." Here he gave the mastiff the long delayed kick.
"Rudge, stay here! The vestibule opposite is icy. Besides, your
howls are not wanted in those old walls tonight even if you would go
with me, which I doubt. He has never been willing to cross to that
side of the street," the old gentleman went on to complain, with his
first show of irritation. "But he'll have to overcome that prejudice
soon, even if I have to tear up the old hearthstone and reconstruct
the walls. I can't live without Rudge, and I will not live in any
other place than in the old home of my ancestors."

I was by this time following him out.

"You