T H E   P R O D I G A L S

MORRISON AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

THE   PRODIGALS
AND THEIR INHERITANCE

BY

MRS. OLIPHANT

AUTHOR OF
“CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD” “THE WIZARD’S SON”
ETC. ETC.


IN TWO VOLUMES

VOL. II


Methuen & Co.
36 ESSEX STREET, LONDON, W.C.
1894

Chapter: XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XIX, XX, XXI.

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CHAPTER XI

EDWARD came out to meet her, and took her hand and drew it through hisarm. He led her in tenderly, holding that hand in his, without a vestigeof the reserve and restraint in which they had been living of late.Winifred was greatly surprised. She drew away her hand, half-angry,half-astonished. “Why is this?” she said. “Is it because it is so earlythat you forget”—

“It is because there is no longer any need of precaution,” he said verygravely, pressing her arm close to his side.

She gazed at him with an incapacity to{190} understand, which would havebeen incredible did it not happen so often at the great crises of life.“I don’t know what you mean; nothing is changed,” she said. “But youhave not come to talk of you and me. Edward, how is my father?” Sheasked the question with scarcely a fear. Then suddenly looked in hisface, flung his support from her, and flew upstairs without a word.

The door of her father’s room was closed; she rushed at it breathless.It was half-opened after a little interval by old Hopkins, who barredthe entrance.

“You can’t come in yet, Miss Winifred, not yet,” he said, shaking hishead. Hopkins was full of the solemn importance and excitement of onewho has suddenly become an actor in a great event. He closed the doorupon her as he spoke, and there she stood, gazing at it blankly, herbrain swim{191}ming, her heart beating. That door had closed not only uponher father dead, but upon a completed chapter of her own life.

Edward had hurried upstairs after her, and was now close by to consoleher. But she would not give him her hand, which he sought. She walkedbefore him to the door of her own sitting-room, which stood wide open,with an early glow of the newly-risen sun showing from the open windows.Then she sat down and motioned him to a chair, but not beside her. Amore woeful countenance never lamented the most beloved of fathers. Herdark outer garment was wet with dew, and clung closely about her; herhair had a few drops of the same dew glimmering upon it; her face wasentirely destitute of colour.

“Tell me how it was,” she said.

“It was as I told you it would be. We must be thankful that no act ofours, no con...