But she saw nothing of this,
sitting there behind her veil, thinking whether she might still do
anything, and if so; what she might do to avert the present evil
destination of the Bragton estate. There was an honourable nephew
of her own,--or rather a great-nephew,--who might easily take the
name, who would so willingly take the name! Or if this were
impracticable, there was a distant Morton, very distant, whom she
had never seen and certainly did not love, but who was clearly a
Morton, and who would certainly be preferable to that enemy of
forty years' standing. Might there not be some bargain made? Would
not her dying grandson be alive to the evident duty of enriching
the property and leaving behind him a wealthy heir? She could
enrich the property and make the heir wealthy by her money.
"How is he?" That of course was the first question when Mrs.
Hopkins met her in the hall. Mrs. Hopkins only shook her head and
said that perhaps he had taken his food that day a little better
than on the last. Then there was a whisper, to which Mrs. Hopkins
whispered back her answer. Yes,--Lady Ushant was in the house,--was
at this moment in the sick man's room. Mr. Reginald was not staying
there,--had never stayed there,--but came every day. He had only
just left. "And is he to come still?" asked Mrs. Morton with wrath
in her eyes.
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