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by Jeffery Farnol (Author)
Again Mr. Grainger laid down the will, and again he regarded me over the rim of his spectacles. "Good God!" cried Sir Richard, leaping to his feet, "the man must have been mad. Ten guineas -- why, it's an insult -- damme! -- it's an insult -- you'll never take it of course, Peter." "On the contrary, sir," said I. "But -- ten guineas!" bellowed the baronet; "on my soul now, George was a cold-blooded fish, but I didn't think even he was capable of such a despicable trick -- no -- curse me if I did! Why, it would have been kinder to have left you nothing at all -- but it was like George -- bitter to the end -- ten guineas!" "Is ten guineas," said I, "and when one comes to think of it, much may be done with ten guineas." 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. "'Failing which, '" read Mr. Grainger, "'the said sum, namely, five hundred thousand pounds, shall be bestowed upon such charity or charities as the trustees shall select. Signed by me, this tenth day of April, eighteen hundred and --, George Vibrart. Duly witnessed by Adam Penfleet, Martha Trent.'"
