Isabel. You have not injured him.
But we may let all that pass away. The fact remains that you are the
heiress of Llanfeare."

Of course he did by degrees explain to her all the
circumstances,--how the will had been found and not revealed, and how
far Cousin Henry had sinned in the matter; but it was agreed between
them that no further evil should be said in the family as to their
unfortunate relative. The great injury which he might have done to
them he had abstained from doing.

"Papa," she said to her father when they were again together alone
that same evening, "you must tell all this to Mr Owen. You must tell
him everything, just as you have told me."

"Certainly, my dear, if you wish it."

"I do wish it."

"Why should you not have the pleasure of telling him yourself?"

"It would not be a pleasure, and therefore I will get you to do it.
My pleasure, if there be any pleasure in it, must come afterwards. I
want him to know it before I see him myself."

"He will be sure to have some stupid notion," said her father,
smiling.

"I want him to have his notion, whether it be stupid or otherwise,
before I see him. If you do not mind, papa, going to him as soon as
possible, I shall be obliged to you."

Isabel, when she found herself alone, had her triumph also. She was
far from being dead to the delights of her inheritance. There had
been a period in her life in which she had regarded it as her certain
destiny to be the possessor of Llanfeare, and she had been proud of
the promised position. The tenants had known her as the future owner
of the acres which they cultivated, and had entertained for her and
shown to her much genuine love. She had made herself acquainted with
every homestead, landmark, and field about the place. She had learnt
the wants of the poor, and the requirements of the little school.
Everything at Llanfeare had had an interest for her. Then had come
that sudden change in her uncle's feelings,--that new idea of
duty,--and she had borne it like a heroine. Not only had she never
said a word of reproach to him, but she had sworn to herself that
even in her own heart she would throw no blame upon him. A great blow
had come upon her, but she had taken it as though it had come from
the hand of the Almighty,--as it might have been had she lost her
eyesight, or been struck with palsy. She promised herself that it
should be so, and she had had strength to be as good as her word. She
had roused herself