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"Well, this is the way of it," said Billy: "the owld gravedigger in Cambourne was standin' about, after mittin' was over, a-readin' of the tombstones, for he'd got a good edjication, had owld Tom.
"The Lady Sophia Sefton of Cambourne!" said I, rubbing my chin. "Why, that's just it," roared the baronet; "she's a reigning toast most famous beauty in the country, London's mad over her she can pick and choose from all the finest gentlemen in England. Oh, it's 'good-by' to all your hopes of the inheritance, Peter, and that's the devil of it." "Sir, I fail to see your argument," said I.
"Yes, Peter," said Charmian, still busy with her pen. "Upon consideration I think my thanks are due to my uncle for dying and leaving me penniless." "Do you mean that he disinherited you?" "In a way, yes; he left me his whole fortune provided that I married a certain lady within the year." "A certain lady?" "The Lady Sophia Sefton, of Cambourne," said I.
Faint and far a church clock slowly chimed the hour of three, the solemn notes coming sweet and silvery with distance. "What chimes are those?" I inquired. "Cranbrook Church." "Is it far to Cranbrook?" "One mile this way, but two by the road yonder." "You seem very well acquainted with these parts," said I. "I have lived here all my life; those are the Cambourne Woods over there "
'Lord love you! why there was old Sam Weazle; never caught napping yet why at Truro, last Monday, he bought up to 450 New Friendships, and before he was a-bed they weren't worth, not this bottle of brandy. Well, old Sam was just bit by those Cambourne lads. 'And how did that happen?
Charmian's pen stopped in the very middle of a letter, and she bent down to examine what she had been writing. "Oh!" said she very softly, "the Lady Sophia Sefton of Cambourne?" "Yes," said I. "And your cousin Sir Maurice were the conditions the same in his case?" "Precisely!" "Oh!" said Charmian, just as softly as before, "and this lady she will not marry you?" "No," I answered.
Sir Richard grew purple in the face, but before he could speak, Mr. Grainger began to read again: "'Moreover, the sum of five hundred thousand pounds, now vested in the funds, shall be paid to either Maurice or Peter Vibart aforesaid, if either shall, within one calendar year, become the husband of the Lady Sophia Sefton of Cambourne." "Good God!" exclaimed Sir Richard.
Vibart," said he, "so far as I know, there are two the Lady Helen Dunstan and the 'Glorious' Sefton." "The Lady Sophia Sefton of Cambourne?" said I. "And the Lady Helen Dunstan," he repeated. "Do you know the Lady Sophia Sefton?" "I have had the honor of dancing with her frequently," he answered. "And is she so beautiful as they say?"
"A man sold it to me he had a lot of them." "Hum!" said I, "probably poached." "I bought this for sixpence out of the old shoe." "Sixpence? then they certainly were poached. These are the Cambourne Woods, and everything upon them fish, flesh, or fowl, living or dead belongs to the Lady Sophia Sefton of Cambourne."
Old Weazle knew of that; he calculated he'd back the metal agin the water, and so he bought all up he could lay his finger on. But the stuff was run out. Them Cambourne boys what did they do? Why, they let the water in on purpose. By Monday night old Weazle knew it all, and then you may say it was as good as a play. 'And how did you do in the matter? 'Oh, I sold.
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