There was a strain of intense curiosity and anxiety regarding this will in the minds of all concerned. It was by this time generally known that, toward the last, Brian Earle had fallen hopelessly out of his uncle's favor; but no one felt able to conjecture with any certainty who would take his place in the will, although every one cherished a secret hope that it might be himself. There were several of these would-be heirs--cousins more or less removed--of the dead man; but Tom Singleton was, in the absence of Earle, the nearest relative, being the son of a half-brother, while Earle was the son of Mr. Singleton's only sister. The former, with all his easy-going quietness, felt that it would be an outrage if he were not the heir; although, knowing his uncle better than any one else, he knew also that he should not be surprised by whatever grim caprice the will revealed.
And such a caprice it did reveal, to the amazement and rage of everyone concerned. Mr. Singleton remembered with a legacy everyone whom it was proper that he should remember--the largest of these legacies being fifty thousand dollars to Tom Singleton,--and then he bequeathed the remainder of his fortune to his "adopted daughter," Marion Lynde.
The disappointed heirs looked at one another with expressions that baffle description. What! half a million to a girl who had no claim upon it whatever, whose relationship to the old man was of the most vague and distant description! They could hardly believe that he had really been guilty of anything so infamous. They would have felt it less an injury if he had endowed a college or a hospital.
But one reflection seemed to occur to all; for, after the expressive pause which said more than any words, almost every voice spoke simultaneously, "The will won't stand! His mind was weak when he made it. It's evidently a case of undue influence."
The lawyer shook his head. "No, gentlemen," he said; "don't make a mistake. This will can not be broken. My client took care of that, and I took care also. As for his mind being weak, Mr. Singleton here knows that up to the day of his death his mind was as clear and vigorous as it ever had been."
Tom Singleton, thus directly appealed to, bent his head. He had not been one of the speakers, and, but for the fact that he had grown very pale, showed little sign of emotion.