 | CHAPTER XIV. The two admirals |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
Let brighter thoughts be with the virtuous dead!
The final ordeal of the soul is past,
And the pale brow is sealed to Heaven at last.”
Mrs. Hemans.
It will be easily supposed that Tom Wychecombe witnessed
the proceedings related in the preceding chapter with
dismay. The circumstance that he actually possessed a
bonâ fide will of his uncle, which left him heir of all the
latter owned, real or personal, had made him audacious,
and first induced him to take the bold stand of asserting his
legitimacy, and of claiming all its consequences. He had
fully determined to assume the title on the demise of Sir
Wycherly; plausibly enough supposing that, as there was
no heir to the baronetcy, the lands once in his quiet possession,
no one would take sufficient interest in the matter
to dispute his right to the rank. Here, however, was a blow
that menaced death to all his hopes. His illegitimacy
seemed to be known to others, and there was every prospect
of a new will's supplanting the old one, in its more important
provisions, at least. He was at a loss to imagine what had
made this sudden change in his uncle's intentions; for he
did not sufficiently understand himself, to perceive that the
few months of close communion which had succeeded the
death of his reputed father, had sufficed to enlighten Sir
Wycherly on the subject of his own true character, and to
awaken a disgust that had remained passive, until suddenly
aroused by the necessity of acting; and, least of all, could
he understand how surprisingly the moral vision of men
is purified and enlarged, as respects both the past and the
future, by the near approach of death. Although symptoms
of strong dissatisfaction escaped him, he quieted his feelings
as much as possible, cautiously waiting for any occurrence
that might be used in setting aside the contemplated instrument,
hereafter; or, what would be still better, to defeat its
execution, now.
As soon as the necessary preparations were made, Atwood,
his pen nibbed, ink at hand, and paper spread, was
ready to proceed: and a breathless stillness existed in the
chamber, Sir Gervaise resumed the subject on which they
were convened.
“Atwood will read to you what he has already written,
Sir Wycherly,” he said; “should the phraseology be agreeable
to you, you will have the goodness to make a sign to
that effect. Well, if all is ready, you can now commence—
hey! Atwood?”
“`In the name of God, Amen;”' commenced the methodical
secretary; “`I, Wycherly Wychecombe, Bart, of Wychecombe-Hall,
in the county of Devon, being of sound mind,
but of a feeble state of health, and having the view of death
before my eyes, revoking all other wills, codicils or testamentary
devises, whatsoever, do make and declare this instrument
to be my last will and testament: that is to say,
Imprimis, I do hereby constitute and appoint — —
of —, the executor of this my said will, with all the
powers and authority that the law gives, or may hereafter
give to said executor. Secondly, I give and bequeath to—'
This is all that is yet written, Sir Gervaise, blanks being
left for the name or names of the executor or executors, as
well as for the `s' at the end of `executor,' should the testator
see fit to name more than one.”
“There, Sir Reginald,” said the vice-admiral, not altogether
without exultation; “this is the way we prepare
these things on board a man-of-war! A flag-officer's secretary
needs have himself qualified to do anything, short of a knowledge
of administering to the cure of souls!”
“And the cure of bodies, ye 'll be permitting me to add,
Sir Gervaise,” observed Magrath, taking an enormous pinch
of a strong yellow snuff.
“Our secretary would make but a lubberly fist at turning
off a delicate turtle-soup out of pig's-head; such as we puts
on our table at sea, so often,” muttered Galleygo in the ear
of Mrs. Larder.
“I see nothing to object to, Sir Gervaise, if the language
is agreeable to Sir Wycherly,” answered the barrister by
profession, though not by practice. “It would be advisable
to get his approbation of even the language.”
“That we intend to do, of course, sir. Sir Wycherly, do
you find the terms of this will to your liking?”
Sir Wycherly smiled, and very clearly gave the sign of
assent.
“I thought as much—for, Atwood has made the wills of
two admirals, and of three captains, to my knowledge; and
my lord Chief Justice said that one of the last would have
done credit to the best conveyancer in England, and that it
was a pity the testator had nothing to bequeath. Now, Sir
Wycherly, will you have one executor, or more? if one,
hold up a single finger; and a finger for each additional
executor you wish us to insert in these blanks. One, Atwood—you
perceive, gentlemen, that Sir Wycherly raises
but one finger; and so you can give a flourish at the end
of the `r,' as the word will be in the singular;—hey! Atwood?”
The secretary did as directed, and then reported himself
ready to proceed.
“It will now be necessary for you to name your executor,
Sir Wycherly—make as little effort as possible, as we shall
understand the name, alone.”
Sir Wycherly succeeded in uttering the name of “Sir
Reginald Wychecombe,” quite audibly.
“This is plain enough,” resumed the vice-admiral; “how
does the sentence read now, Atwood?”
“`Imprimis:—I do hereby constitute and appoint Sir
Reginald Wychecombe of Wychecombe-Regis, in the county
of Herts, Baronet, the executor of this my said will, &c.”'
“If that clause is to your liking, Sir Wycherly, have the
goodness to give the sign agreed on.”
The sick man smiled, nodded his head, raised his hand,
and looked anxiously at his kinsman.
“I consent to serve, Sir Wycherly, if such is your desire,”
observed the nominee, who detected the meaning of his
kinsman's look.
“And now, sir,” continued the vice-admiral; “it is necessary
to ask you a few questions, in order that Atwood
may know what next to write. Is it your desire to bequeath
any real estate?” Sir Wycherly assented. “Do you wish
to bequeath all your real estate?” The same sign of assent
was given. “Do you wish to bequeath all to one person?”
plain sailing, and a short run,—hey! Atwood?”
The secretary wrote as fast as possible, and in two or
three minutes he read aloud, as follows—
“`Secondly, I make and declare the following bequests or
devises—that is to say, I give and bequeath to — —
of —, all the real estate of which I may die seised,
together with all the houses, tenements, hereditaments, and
appurtenances thereunto belonging, and all my rights to the
same, whether in law or equity, to be possessed and enjoyed
by the said — — of — in fee, by —
heirs, executors, administrators, or assigns, for ever.' There
are blanks for the name and description, as well as for the
sex of the devisee,” added the secretary.
“All very proper and legal, I believe, Sir Reginald?—I
am glad you think so, sir. Now, Sir Wycherly, we wait
for the name of the lucky person you mean thus to favour.”
“Sir Reginald Wychecombe,” the sick man uttered, painfully;
“half-blood — no nullus. Sir Michael's heir — my
heir.”
“This is plain English!” cried Sir Gervaise, in the way
of a man who is not displeased; “put in the name of `Sir
Reginald Wychecombe of Wychecombe-Regis, Herts,' Atwood—ay—that
just fills the blank handsomely—you want
`his heirs, executors, &c.' in the other blank.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir Gervaise; it should read `by
himself, his heirs, &c.”'
“Very true—very true, Atwood, Now read it slowly,
and Sir Wycherly will assent, if he approve.”
This was done, and Sir Wycherly not only approved, but
it was apparent to all present, the abashed and confounded
Tom himself not excepted, that he approved, with a feeling
akin to delight.
“That gives a black eye to all the land,—hey! Atwood?”
said Sir Gervaise; who, by this time, had entered into the
business in hand, with all the interest of a regular notary—
or, rather, with that of one, on whose shoulders rested the
responsibility of success or failure. “We come next to the
personals. Do you wish to bequeath your furniture, wines,
horses, carriages, and other things of that sort, to any particular
person, Sir Wycherly?”
“All—Sir Reginald—Wychecombe—half-blood—old Sir
Michael's heir,” answered the testator.
“Good—clap that down, Atwood, for it is doing the thing,
as I like to see family affairs settled. As soon as you are
ready, let us hear how it sounds in writing.”
“`I furthermore bequeath to the said Sir Reginald Wychecombe
of Wychecombe-Regis, as aforesaid, baronet, all my
personal property, whatsoever,”' read Atwood, as soon as
ready; “`including furniture, wines, pictures, books, horses
and carriages, and all other goods and chattels, of which I
may die possessed, excepting thereout and therefrom, nevertheless,
such sums in money, stocks, bonds, notes, or other
securities for debts, or such articles as I may in this instrument
especially devise to any other person.' We can now
go to especial legacies, Sir Gervaise, and then another clause
may make Sir Reginald residuary legatee, if such be Sir
Wycherly's pleasure.”
“If you approve of that clause, my dear sir, make the
usual sign of assent.”
Sir Wycherly both raised his hand and nodded his head,
evidently quite satisfied.
“Now, my good sir, we come to the pounds — no —
guineas? You like that better—well, I confess that it sounds
better on the ear, and is more in conformity with the habits
of gentlemen. Will you now bequeath guineas? Good—
first name the legatee—is that right, Sir Reginald?”
“Quite right, Sir Gervaise; and Sir Wycherly will understand
that he now names the first person to whom he
wishes to bequeath anything else.”
“Milly,” muttered the sick man.
“What? Mills!—the mills go with the lands, Sir Reginald?”
“He means Miss Mildred Dutton,” eagerly interposed
Wycherly, though with sufficient modesty.
“Yes—right—right,” added the testator. “Little Milly—
Milly Dutton—good little Milly.”
Sir Gervaise hesitated, and looked round at Bluewater, as
much as to say “this is bringing coals to Newcastle;” but
Atwood took the idea, and wrote the bequest, in the usual
form.
“`I give and bequeath to Mildred Dutton,”' he read aloud,
of—' what sum shall I fill the blank with, Sir Wycherly?”
“Three—three—yes, three—”
“Hundreds or thousands, my good sir?” asked Sir Gervaise,
a little surprised at the amount of the bequest.
“Guineas—three—thousand—guineas,—five per cents.”
“That 's as plain as logarithms. Give the young lady
three thousand guineas in the fives, Atwood.”
“`I give and bequeath to Mildred Dutton, daughter of
Francis Dutton of the Royal Navy, the sum of three thousand
guineas in the five per cent. stocks of this kingdom.'
Will that do, Sir Wycherly?”
The old man looked at Mildred and smiled benevolently;
for, at that moment, he felt he was placing the pure and
lovely girl above the ordinary contingencies of her situation,
by rendering her independent.
“Whose name shall we next insert, Sir Wycherly,” resumed
the vice-admiral. “There must be many more of
these guineas left.”
“Gregory—and—James—children of my brother Thomas—Baron
Wychecombe—five thousand guineas each,”
added the testator, making a great effort to express his
meaning as clearly as possible.
He was understood; and, after a short consultation with
the vice-admiral, Atwood wrote out the devise at length.
“`I give and bequeath to my nephews, Gregory and
James Wychecombe, the reputed sons of my late brother,
Thomas Wychecombe, one of the Barons of His Majesty's
Exchequer, the sum of five thousand guineas, each, in the
five per cent. funded debt of this kingdom.”'
“Do you approve of the devise, Sir Wycherly? if so,
make the usual sign of assent?”
Sir Wycherly complied, as in all the previous cases of
his approval.
“Whose name shall we next insert, in readiness for a
legacy, Sir Wycherly?” asked the admiral.
Here was a long pause, the baronet evidently turning over
in his mind, what he had done, and what yet remained to do.
“Spread yourselves, my friends, in such a way as to
permit the testator to see you all,” continued the vice-admiral,
motioning with his hand to widen the circle around the
“stand more this way, Lieutenant Wycherly Wychecombe,
that the ladies may see and be seen; and you, too,
Mr. Thomas Wychecombe, come further in front, where
your uncle will observe you.”
This speech pretty exactly reflected the workings of the
speaker's mind. The idea that Wycherly was a natural
child of the baronet's, notwithstanding the Virginian story,
was uppermost in his thoughts; and, taking the supposed
fact in connection with the young man's merit, he earnestly
desired to obtain a legacy for him. As for Tom, he cared
little whether his name appeared in the will or not. Justice
was now substantially done, and the judge's property being
sufficient for his wants, the present situation of the lately
reputed heir excited but little sympathy. Nevertheless, Sir
Gervaise thought it would be generous, under the circumstances,
to remind the testator that such a being as Tom
Wychecombe existed.
“Here is your nephew, Mr. Thomas, Sir Wycherly,” he
said; “is it your wish to let his name appear in your will?”
The sick man smiled coldly; but he moved his head, as
much as to imply assent.
“`I give and bequeath to Thomas Wychecombe, the
eldest reputed son of my late brother, Thomas, one of the
Barons of His Majesty's Exchequer,”' read Atwood, when
the clause was duly written; “`the sum of —, in
the five per cent. stocks of this kingdom.”'
“What sum will you have inserted, Sir Wycherly?”
asked the vice-admiral.
“Fifty—fifty—pounds,” said the testator, in a voice clearer
and fuller than he had before used that day.
The necessary words were immediately inserted; the
clause, as completed, was read again, and the approval was
confirmed by a distinctly pronounced “yes.” Tom started,
but, as all the others maintained their self-command, the
business of the moment did not the less proceed.
“Do you wish any more names introduced into your
will, Sir Wycherly?” asked the vice-admiral. “You have
bequeathed but—a-a-a—how much—hey! Atwood?—ay,
ten and three are thirteen, and fifty pounds, make £13,180;
beyond a doubt.”
“Ann Larder — Samuel Cork — Richard Bitts — David
Brush—Phœbe Keys,” said Sir Wycherly, slowly, giving
time after each pause, for Atwood to write; naming his
cook, butler, groom, valet or body-servant, and housekeeper,
in the order they have been laid before the reader.
“How much to each, Sir Wycherly?—I see Atwood has
made short work, and put them all in the same clause—
that will never do, unless the legacies are the same.”
“Good—good—right,” muttered the testator; “£200—
each—£1000—all—money—money.”
This settled the point, and the clause was regularly
written, read, and approved.
“This raises the money bequests to £14,180, Sir Wycherly—some
6 or £7000 more must remain to be disposed
of. Stand a little further this way, if you please, Mr. Wycherly
Wychecombe, and allow the ladies more room.
Whose name shall we insert next, sir?”
Sir Wycherly, thus directed by the eager desire of the
admiral to serve the gallant lieutenant, fastened his eyes
on the young man, regarding him quite a minute in silent
attention.
“Virginian — same name — American — colonies — good
lad—brave lad—£1000,” muttered the sick man between
his teeth; and, yet so breathless was the quiet of the chamber,
at that moment, every syllable was heard by all present.
“Yes—£1000—Wycherly Wychecombe—royal navy—”
Atwood's pen was running rapidly over the paper, and
had just reached the name of the contemplated legatee, when
his hand was arrested by the voice of the young man himself.
“Stop, Mr. Atwood — do not insert any clause in my
favour!” cried Wycherly, his face the colour of crimson,
and his chest heaving with the emotions he felt it so difficult
to repress. “I decline the legacy—it will be useless to
write it, as I will not receive a shilling.”
“Young sir,” said Sir Gervaise, with a little of the severity
of a superior, when he rebukes an inferior, in his manner;
“you speak hastily. It is not the office of an auditor or of
a spectator, to repel the kindness of a man about to pass
of his God!”
“I have every sentiment of respect for Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe, sir;—every friendly wish for his speedy recovery,
and a long evening to his life; but, I will accept of
the money of no man who holds my country in such obvious
distaste, as, it is apparent, the testator holds mine.”
“You are an Englishman, I believe, Lieutenant Wychecombe;
and a servant of King George II.?”
“I am not an Englishman, Sir Gervaise Oakes—but an
American; a Virginian, entitled to all the rights and privileges
of a British subject. I am no more an Englishman,
than Dr. Magrath may lay claim to the same character.”
“This is putting the case strongly,—hey! Atwood?” answered,
the vice-admiral, smiling in spite of the occasion.
“I am far from saying that you are an Englishman, in all
senses, sir; but you are one in the sense that gives you national
character and national rights. You are a subject of
England.”
“No, Sir Gervaise; your pardon. I am the subject of
George II., but in no manner a subject of England. I am,
in one sense, perhaps, a subject of the British empire; but I
am not the less a Virginian, and an American. Not a shilling
of any man's money will I ever touch, who expresses
his contempt for either.”
“You forget yourself, young man, and overlook the
future. The hundred or two of prize-money, bought at the
expense of your blood, in the late affair at Groix, will not
last for ever.”
“It is gone, already, sir, every shilling of it having been
sent to the widow of the boatswain who was killed at my
side. I am no beggar, Sir Gervaise Oakes, though only an
American. I am the owner of a plantation, which affords
me a respectable independence, already; and I do not serve
from necessity, but from choice. Perhaps, if Sir Wycherly
knew this, he would consent to omit my name. I honour
and respect him; would gladly relieve his distress, either
of body or mind; but I cannot consent to accept his
money when offered on terms I consider humiliating.”
This was said modestly, but with a warmth and sincerity
which left no doubt that the speaker was in earnest. Sir Gervaise
urge the matter any further, and he turned towards the bed,
in expectation of what the sick man might next say. Sir
Wycherly had heard and understood all that passed, and it
did not fail to produce an impression, even in the state to
which he was reduced. Kind-hearted, and indisposed to
injure even a fly, all the natural feelings of the old man
resumed their ascendency, and he would gladly have given
every shilling of his funded property to be able freely
to express his compunction at having ever uttered a syllable
that could offend sensibilities so noble and generous. But
this exceeded his powers, and he was fain to do the best he
could, in the painful situation in which he was placed.
“Noble fellow!” he stuttered out; “honour to name—
come here—Sir Gervaise—bring here—”
“I believe it is the wish of Sir Wycherly, that you would
draw near the bed, Mr. Wychecombe of Virginia,” said the
vice-admiral, pithily, though he extended a hand to, and
smiled kindly on, the youth, as the latter passed him in
compliance.
The sick man now succeeded, with a good deal of difficulty,
in drawing a valuable signet-ring from a finger.—
This ring bore the Wychecombe arms, engraved on it. It
was without the bloody hand, however; for it was far older
than the order of baronets, having, as Wycherly well knew,
been given by one of the Plantagenet Dukes to an ancestor
of the family, during the French wars of Henry VI., and
that, too, in commemoration of some signal act of gallantry
in the field.
“Wear this—noble fellow—honour to name,” said Sir
Wycherly. “Must be descended — all Wychecombes descended—him—”
“I thank you, Sir Wycherly, for this present, which I
prize as it ought to be prized,” said Wycherly, every trace
of any other feeling than that of gratitude having vanished
from his countenance. “I may have no claims to your
honours or money; but this ring I need not be ashamed to
wear, since it was bestowed on one who was as much my
ancestor, as he was the ancestor of any Wychecombe in
England.”
“Legitimate?” cried Tom, a fierce feeling of resentment
upsetting his caution and cunning.
“Yes sir, legitimate,” answered Wycherly, turning to his
interrogator with the calmness of one conscious of his own
truth, and with a glance of the eye that caused Tom to
shrink back again into the circle. “I need no bar, to enable
me to use this seal, which, you may perceive, Sir Gervaise
Oakes, is a fac simile of the one I ordinarily wear, and
which was transmitted to me from my direct ancestors.”
The vice-admiral compared the seal on Wycherly's watch-chain
with that on the ring, and, the bearings being principally
griffins, he was enabled to see that one was the exact counterpart
of the other. Sir Reginald advanced a step, and
when the admiral had satisfied himself, he also took the two
seals and compared them. As all the known branches of the
Wychecombes of Wychecombe, bore the same arms, viz.,
griffins for Wychecombe, with three battering-rams quartered,
for Wycherly,—he saw, at once, that the young man
habitually carried about his person, this proof of a common
origin. Sir Reginald knew very well that arms were often
assumed, as well as names, and the greater the obscurity of
the individual who took these liberties, the greater was his
impunity; but the seal was a very ancient one, and innovations
on personal rights were far less frequent a century
since, than they are to-day. Then the character and appearance
of Wycherly put fraud out of the question, so far
as the young lieutenant himself was concerned. Although
the elder branch of the family, legitimately speaking, was
reduced to the helpless old man who was now stretched
upon his death-bed, his own had been extensive; and it well
might be that some cadet of the Wychecombes of Wychecombe-Regis,
had strayed into the colonies and left descendants.
Secretly resolving to look more closely into
these facts, he gravely returned the seals, and intimated
to Sir Gervaise that the more important business before them
had better proceed. On this hint, Atwood resumed the pen,
and the vice-admiral his duties.
“There want yet some 6 or £7000 to make up £20,000,
Sir Wycherly, which I understand is the sum you have in
the funds. Whose name or names will you have next
inserted?”
“Rotherham—vicar—poor St. James—gone; yes—Mr.
—Rotherham—vicar.”
The clause was written, the sum of £1000 was inserted,
and the whole was read and approved.
“This still leaves us some £5000 more to deal with, my
dear sir?”
A long pause succeeded, during which time Sir Wycherly
was deliberating what to do with the rest of his ready money.
At length his wandering eye rested on the pale features of
Mrs. Dutton; and, while he had a sort of liking, that proceeded
from habit, for her husband, he remembered that she
had many causes for sorrow. With a feeling that was
creditable to his own heart, he uttered her name, and the
sum of £2000. The clause was written, accordingly, read
and approved.
“We have still £3000 certainly, if not £4000,” added
Sir Gervaise.
“Milly—dear little—Milly—pretty Milly,” stammered out
the baronet, affectionately.
“This must go into a codicil, Sir Gervaise,” interrupted
Atwood; “there being already one legacy in the young
lady's favour. Shall it be one, two, three, or four thousand
pounds, Sir Wycherly, in favour of Miss Mildred, to whom
you have already bequeathed £3000?”
The sick man muttered the words “three thousand,” after
a short pause, adding “codicil.”
His wishes were complied with, and the whole was read
and approved. After this, Sir Gervaise inquired if the
testator wished to make any more devises. Sir Wycherly,
who had in effect bequeathed, within a few hundred pounds,
all he had to bestow, bethought himself, for a few moments,
of the state of his affairs, and then he signified his satisfaction
with what had been done.
“As it is possible, Sir Wycherly, that you may have
overlooked something,” said Sir Gervaise, “and it is better
that nothing should escheat to the crown, I will suggest the
expediency of your making some one residuary legatee.”
The poor old man smiled an assent, and then he succeeded
in muttering the name of “Sir Reginald Wychecombe.”
This clause, like all the others, was written, read, and
were made to read it carefully over to the intended testator.
In order that this might be done with sufficient care for
future objections, the two admirals and Atwood, who were
selected for the witnesses, each read the testament himself,
in order to say that nothing was laid before the testator but
that which was fairly contained in the instrument, and that
nothing was omitted. When all was ready, the will was
audibly and slowly read to Sir Wycherly, by the secretary,
from the beginning to the end. The old man listened with
great attention; smiled when Mildred's name was mentioned;
and clearly expressed, by signs and words, his entire
satisfaction when all was ended. It remained only to place
a pen in his hand, and to give him such assistance as would
enable him to affix his name twice; once to the body of the
instrument; and, when this was duly witnessed, then again
to the codicil. By this time, Tom Wychecombe thought
that the moment for interposing had arrived. He had been
on thorns during the whole proceeding, forming desperate
resolutions to sustain the bold fraud of his legitimacy, and
thus take all the lands and heir-looms of the estate, under
the entail; still he well knew that a subordinate, but important
question might arise, as between the validity of the two
wills, in connection with Sir Wycherly's competency to
make the last. It was material, therefore, in his view of the
case, to enter a protest.
“Gentlemen,” he said, advancing to the foot of the bed;
“I call on you all to observe the nature of this whole transaction.
My poor, beloved, but misled uncle, no longer ago
than last night, was struck with a fit of apoplexy, or something
so very near it as to disqualify him to judge in these
matters; and here he is urged to make a will—”
“By whom, sir?” demanded Sir Gervaise, with a severity
of tone that induced the speaker to fall back a step.
“Why, sir, in my judgment, by all in the room. If not
with their tongues, at least with their eyes.”
“And why should all in the room do this? Am I a legatee?—is
Admiral Bluewater to be a gainer by this will?—
can witnesses to a will be legatees?”
“I do not wish to dispute the matter with you, Sir Gervaise
Oakes; but I solemnly protest against this irregular
who hear me, remember this, and be ready to testify to it,
when called on in a court of justice.”
Here Sir Wycherly struggled to rise in the bed, in evident
excitement, gesticulating strongly to express his disgust, and
his wish for his nephew to withdraw. But the physicians
endeavoured to pacify him, while Atwood, with the paper
spread on a port-folio, and a pen in readiness, coolly proceeded
to obtain the necessary signatures. Sir Wycherly's
hand trembled so much when it received the pen, that, for the
moment, writing was out of the question, and it became
necessary to administer a restorative in order to strengthen
his nerves.
“Away — out of sight,” muttered the excited baronet,
leaving no doubt on all present, that the uppermost feeling
of the moment was the strong desire to rid himself of the
presence of the offensive object. “Sir Reginald—little Milly
—poor servants—brothers—all the rest, stay.”
“Just be calming the mind, Sir Wycherly Wychecombe,”
put in Magrath, “and ye'll be solacing the body by the same
effort. When the mind is in a state of exaltation, the nervous
system is apt to feel the influence of sympathy. By bringing
the two in harmonious co-operation, the testamentary
devises will have none the less of validity, either in reality
or in appearances.”
Sir Wycherly understood the surgeon, and he struggled
for self-command. He raised the pen, and succeeded in
getting its point on the proper place. Then his dim eye
lighted, and shot a reproachful glance at Tom; he smiled
in a ghastly manner, looked towards the paper, passed a
hand across his brow, closed his eyes, and fell back on the
pillow, utterly unconscious of all that belonged to life, its
interests, its duties, or its feelings. In ten minutes, he ceased
to breathe.
Thus died Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, after a long life,
in which general qualities of a very negative nature, had
been somewhat relieved, by kindness of feeling, a passive
if not an active benevolence, and such a discharge of his
responsible duties as is apt to flow from an absence of any
qualities that are positively bad; as well as of many of
material account, that are affirmatively good.
| CHAPTER XIV. The two admirals | |