You see now, I think, how it is; and I did not like it when your
father read the will to me, and I said so. Do _you_?'
I hesitated to speak, not sure that I quite comprehended him.
'And the more I think of it, the less I like it, Miss,' said Doctor
Bryerly, in a calm, stern tone.
'Merciful Heaven! Doctor Bryerly, you can't suppose that I should not be
as safe in my uncle's house as in the Lord Chancellor's?' I ejaculated,
looking full in his face.
'But don't you see, Miss, it is not a fair position to put your uncle in,'
replied he, after a little hesitation.
'But suppose _he_ does not think so. You know, if he does, he may decline
it.'
'Well that's true--but he won't. Here is his letter'--and he produced
it--'announcing officially that he means to accept the office; but I think
he ought to be told it is not _delicate_, under all circumstances.
You know, Miss, that your uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn, was talked about
unpleasantly once.'
'You mean'--I began.
'I mean about the death of Mr. Charke, at Bartram-Haugh.'
'Yes, I have heard that,' I said; he was speaking with a shocking _aplomb_.
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