n? ... She
blushed in a very marked manner. He blinked, and his happy blinking seemed
to say: "Only wills drawn by me are genuine.... Didn't I tell you Mr. Moze
was not a man of business?"

Audrey ran to Miss Ingate.

Mr. Foulger, suddenly ashamed, and determined to be a lawyer, said sharply:

"Has Mrs. Moze made a will?"

"Mother made a will? Oh no!"

"Then she should make one at once, in your favour, of course. No time
should be lost."

"But Mrs. Moze is ill in bed," protested Miss Ingate.

"All the more reason why she should make a will. It may save endless
trouble. And it is her duty. I shall suggest that I be the executor and
trustee, of course with the usual power to charge costs." His face was hard
again. "You will thank me later on, Miss Moze," he added.

"Do you mean _now?_" shrilled Miss Ingate.

"I do," said he. "If you will give me some paper, we might go to her at
once. You can be one of the witnesses. I could be a witness, but as I am
to act under the will for a consideration somebody else would be
preferable."

"I should suggest Aguilar," answered Miss Ingate, the corners of her lips
dropping.

Miss Ingate went first, to prepare Mrs. Moze.

When Audrey was alone in the study--she had not even offered to accompany
her elders to the bedroom--she made a long sound: "Ooo!" Then she gave a
leap and stood still, staring out of the window at the estuary. She tried
to force her mood to the colour of her dress, but the sense of propriety
was insufficient for the task. The magnificence of all the world was
unfolding itself to her soul. Events had hitherto so dizzyingly beaten down
upon her head that she had scarcely been conscious of feeling. Now she
luxuriously felt. "I am at last born," she thought. "Miracles have
happened.... It's incredible.... I can do what I like with mother.... But
if I don't take care I shall die of relief this very moment!"

CHAPTER V

THE DEAD HAND

Audrey was wakened up that night, just after she had gone to sleep, by a
touch on the cheek. Her mother, palely indistinct in the darkness, was
standing by the bedside. She wore a white wrap over her night attire, and
the customary white bandage from which emanated a faint odour of
eau-de-Cologne, was around her forehead.

"Audrey, darling, I must speak to you."

Instantly Audrey became the wise directress of her poor foolish mother's
existence.

"Mother," she said, with firm kindness, "please do go back to bed at