[figure description] Page 176.[end figure description]

On the portico a smiling and deferential personage, of about
fifty, awaited Harley.

“Mr. Shanks, from Lincolnshire—I think this is Mr. Harley,”
said the smiling personage, in broad English.

It was the engineer for whom Harley had written, in reference to
his drainage project. The letter had gone quickly, enveloping a
check—the engineer had come quickly, landing on the day before.
He had evidently a high appreciation of Harley—and also of his
check.

On the next day, they mounted and rode to the Blackwater
Swamp, which they thoroughly examined—making their way on
foot where it was impossible to do so on horseback.

They came back in the evening. The engineer was lecturing all
the way upon drainage—still smiling and deferential.

“There would be no trouble—none whatever—in draining Mr.
Harley's fen-land. There was no backwater—that was the worst—
dikes, sir! dikes!—that was what swallowed up the money. These
were mere pond-holes and cat-holes, leaving out the lake. Surplus
water from above was all. What was wanted was one main catch-water
drain, with a few others, say one hundred—but smaller,
much smaller, Mr. Harley!—to drain into it. One under-drain
might be necessary. Yes, there would be no trouble—none; and
what land! It would prove inexhaustible—inexhaustible, sir!”

And the smiling engineer went on with back-water surplus-water,
pond-holes, cat-holes, under-drains, catch-water, main-drains, and all the
technicalities of his trade.

“How much would the entire operation cost?” said Harley. The
engineer knit his brows.

He could not make an estimate just yet. “A trifle, however; that
is to say, considering the value of the property, when reclaimed.”

“Give me a rough estimate.”

“I should say between two and three thousand pounds, Mr.
Harley.”

Harley reflected; during which proceeding the engineer continued
to lecture. Harley nodded, and only said,

“I will decide in three days. We will see.”

During their conversation a person had been riding about thirty

“I am the master of any disposition that is made of that property, Sir.”—P. 177. [figure description] Image of Harley having a meeting with Colonel Hartright. Hartright is sitting in a chair and leaning forwards slightly on his cane. Hartright is glowering at a standing Harley. Harley has his hat in one hand curled under his arm and is gesturing with the other.[end figure description]

[figure description] Blank Page.[end figure description]

[figure description] Page 177.[end figure description]

yards behind them This was the limb of the law who had drawn
the mortgage for Mr. Hicks. As the engineer spoke with animation,
the lawyer heard what he said, and having turned off at a sideroad,
proceeded toward Oakhill, where he had some business
with Colonel Hartright.

When he went away from Oakhill, Colonel Joshua Hartright
knew that the drainage project was in full progress—and the hurricane
burst. He despatched a note to Harley, requesting a brief
interview with that gentleman. His own age and infirmities, he
said, would not permit him to visit Huntsdon. Would Mr. Harley
be so good as to wait on him?

When Harley read this note, he said,

“There is a storm coming, I think.”

“He was not mistaken. Colonel Hartright received him with a
lowering cloud upon his face. The old gentleman had become very
infirm, and his temper was more excitable than ever—his observance
of the rules of social intercourse less exact.

“I am informed that you are about to drain that wretched swamp,
sir!” he said, in a loud voice.

Harley bowed with gravity, making no other reply than

“I so design, sir.”

“It is mad! mad!”

Harley braced himself against the hurricane.

“It will cost you your whole estate, and you have already encumbered
that, I am informed. Then you must look to—to—you
understand me, sir!—to your expectations from my brother's
estate.”

Harley said, quietly,

“I have no right to do so, sir. I do not wish to look forward to
your death.”

“My death will make no difference!—I repeat, will make no
difference, sir!”

“Harley was silent.

“I am the master in any disposition that is made of that property,
sir!”

The old man struck the floor violently with his gold-headed cane
as he spoke.

“My brother left it to me to dispose of as I thought best! If I
thought proper you were to have the Glenvale estate of fifteen
thousand acres—only, I say, in case I thought proper!”—

The voice had risen, and vibrated harshly. Harley's silence was
exasperating.

“Well, sir.”

This reply seemed still further to excite the irascible old man.

[figure description] Page 178.[end figure description]

“You defy me, then! You despise my wishes and act in contempt
of them! You go to money-lenders and that sort of people,
and say; `I shall inherit from my uncle Joshua Hartright one of
the finest properties in all Virginia. Advance me money; it will
be repaid at his death!' You say that, sir! You say to yourself
that I am old! You say that in a few years you will have all this
land, and throw away as much as you wish on your wild-goose
fancies, or wasting your time in foreign countries.”

Calm as Harley was, and resolved to control his displeasure, this
treatment of him as a mere child began to exasperate him.

“I do not count upon your death, sir,” he said, with cold respect.
“I do not wish you to die that I may inherit your property. My
own is my own, derived from my father. I shall dispose of it, I
beg to say, sir, as I wish—without asking any one's advice.”

Having said this, Harley rose and made his uncle a bow.

Colonel Hartright started up in an outburst of rage.

“Don't defy me, sir! don't defy me!” he cried. “You forget
that I am your mother's brother!”

“I do not forget it, sir; but beg you to remember that I am past
my majority.”

“You will rue this tone to me!”

“If my interest alone controlled me,” said Harley, coldly, “I
should no doubt do so, sir. My honor and self-respect are more to
me than my interest. I am thirty years of age, and although you
are much older, and my uncle in addition, I must say that your
tone is intolerable, sir!”

With these words Harley bowed, and left the room. He had just
mounted his horse to return to Huntsdon, when he heard a bell
ringing violently in the mansion. This bell was rung by Colonel
Hartright.

A servant hastened. His master was flushed and wroth.

“Ride immediately to Mr. Hoskins', and say that I wish to see
him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Hoskins was the lawyer of all work of the neighborhood.
He received Colonel Hartright's message as he was sitting down to
table. But Mr. Hoskins was a gentleman of business. His motto
was, “Business first, pleasure afterwards”—and the heated animal
ridden by the servant impressed him.

“Is Colonel Hartright in a hurry?” he said.

“Yes, sah! he red in the face!” was the grinning reply.

This made Mr. Hoskins ride fast. He knew that Colonel Hartright
never waited; and he, Mr. Hoskins, never kept him waiting:
he simply charged extra haste in his fee-bill.

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“Colonel!” said Mr. Hoskins as he entered, hat in hand, “your
servant.”

“Sit down there, if you please, sir—at that table—there is pen
and ink.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“I wish you to write my will.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“I will state my wishes in reference to my own particular property
and that left at my disposal by my brother, George Hartright.”

“Ready, Colonel.”

Two hours afterwards, Colonel Joshua Hartright had made a new
will, entirely disinheriting Justin Harley. Ten words had cost
him more than fifteen thousand acres of the richest land in
Virginia.

p513-213

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