If either of these young men were to die
unmarried, his brother would succeed to his estate, worth five thousand
a year. But if both should die, Reginald Eversleigh would become the
owner of double that amount.
It was the merest chance, the shadow of a chance, for the lives of both
young men were better than his own, inasmuch as both had led healthful
and steadier lives than the dissipated Reginald Eversleigh. But even
this poor chance was something.
"They may die," he thought; "death lurks in every bush that borders the
highway of life. They or both may die, and I may regain the wealth that
should have been mine."
He looked at the two young men. Lionel, the elder, was the handsomer of
the two. He was fair, with brown curling hair, and frank blue eyes.
Reginald, as he looked at him, thought bitterly, "I must indeed be the
very fool of hope and credulity to fancy he will not marry. But, if he
were safe, I should not so much fear Douglas." The younger, Douglas,
was a man whom some people would have called plain. But the dark sallow
face, with its irregular features, was illuminated by an expression of
mingled intelligence and amiability, which possessed a charm for all
judges worth pleasing.
Lionel was the clergyman, Douglas the lawyer, or rather law-student,
for the glory of his maiden brief was yet to come.
How Reginald envied these fortunate kinsmen! He hated them with
passionate hate.
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