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"He was
always her favourite son."
Valentine looked at him with surprise. He appeared to be oppressed with
the lassitude of sleep, and yet to be struggling to keep his eyes open
and to say something. But he only managed to repeat his last words.
"I've told John all that I wish him to know," he next said, and then
succumbed and was asleep again.
"The favourite son, and natural heir!" thought Valentine. "No quarrel,
and yet not inherit a shilling! That is queer, to say the least of it.
I'll go up to London and have another look at that will. And he has
told John something or other. Unless his thoughts are all abroad then,
he must have been alluding to two perfectly different things."
Valentine now went to the carriage and fetched in the footman, hoping
that at sight of him his uncle might be persuaded to come home; but this
was done with so much difficulty that, when at last it was accomplished,
Valentine sent the carriage on to fetch John, and sat anxiously watching
till he came, and a medical man with him.
Sleep and weakness, but no pain, and no disquietude.


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