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Updated: May 22, 2025
I am content to await the hour of my justification; I am content to trust in Time, the avenger of all wrongs, and the consoler of all sorrows. In the meanwhile, I will stand alone a woman without a friend, a woman who has to fight her own battles with the world." Gilbert Ashburne could not withhold his respect from the woman who stood before him, queen-like in her calm dignity.
Lady Eversleigh had declared her intention of following her husband to his last resting-place. She had been told that it was unusual for women of the higher classes to take part in a funeral cortege; but she had stedfastly adhered to her resolution. "You tell me it is not the fashion!" she said to Mr. Ashburne.
But now the expression of her face changed all at once; the beautiful countenance grew cold and stern, the haughty lip quivered with the agony of offended pride. "Enough!" she said. "I will never again trouble you, Mr. Ashburne, by entreating your merciful consideration. Let your judgment be the judgment of the world.
He stretched out his hand at the moment Gilbert Ashburne was about to examine the document. "That is a letter," he said, "a strictly private letter, which I recognize. It is addressed to me, as you will see; and posted in Paris nearly two years ago. I must beg you not to read it." "Very well, Sir Reginald, I will take your word for it.
"It is just possible," answered Gilbert Ashburne; "though from my knowledge of your uncle's character, I should imagine it most unlikely. At any rate, his papers will reveal the state of his mind immediately before his death.
Ashburne was standing with his back to the empty fireplace, in conversation with one of the medical men, when Reginald entered the room. He advanced a few paces, to shake hands with the young man, and then resumed his favourite magisterial attitude, leaning against the chimney-piece, with his hands in his trousers' pockets.
The principal door of the castle was open, and in the doorway stood two men. One was Mr. Ashburne, the magistrate; the other was Christopher Dimond, the constable of Raynham. The sight of these two men told Captain Copplestone that his fears were but too surely realized. Something had happened amiss something of importance or Gilbert Ashburne, the magistrate, would not be there.
Gilbert Ashburne and the lawyer examined the rest of the packet. There were no papers of importance; nothing throwing any light upon late events, except Lady Eversleigh's letter, and the will made by the baronet immediately after his marriage. "There is another and a later will," said Reginald, eagerly; "a will made last night, and witnessed by Millard and Peterson.
This was a country gentleman a wealthy landed squire and magistrate whom Reginald Eversleigh had known from his boyhood. His name was Gilbert Ashburne; and he was an individual of considerable importance in the neighbourhood of Raynham, near which village he had a fine estate. Mr.
A savage fury filled his soul as he thought of Honoria. "This will has been destroyed by the one person most interested in its destruction," he cried. "Who can doubt now that my uncle was poisoned, and the will destroyed by the same person? and who can doubt that person to be Lady Eversleigh?" "My dear sir," exclaimed Mr. Ashburne, "this really will not do.
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