He could hardly bear his darling son out of his sight, except for
the narrowest margin of necessary sleep; and often David slept
sitting up in an arm-chair in the Vicar's bedroom. The Revd. Howel
said nothing more about grandchildren; often--with a finer
sense--spoke to him not as though he were a son, but as a beloved
daughter. At last he died in his sleep one night, holding David's
hand, looking so ineffably happy that the impostor inwardly gloried
in his imposture as in one of the best deeds of his chequered life.
* * * * *
The will, of course, had not been changed, and David inherited all
his "father's" property. Out of it he settled L500 on the
miner's--or rather Jenny's--son who probably _was_ the offspring of
the real David Williams's boyish amour. He provided a handsome
annuity for poor, shaken, old Nannie; and the rest of the money
after paying all expenses he laid out on the endowment of a Village
Hall for games and study, social meetings and political discussions,
together with provision for an annual stipend of a hundred pounds
for the Vicar or curate of the parish who should run this Hall:
which was to be a lasting memorial to the Reverend Howel Vaughan
Williams, so learned in the lore of Wales.
Having settled all these matters to his satisfaction, and certainly
to that of the Revd.
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