this world who might be supposed to be exempt from
care, it is you," said Mr. Bitterworth, leaning towards the invalid, his
hale old face expressing the concern he felt. "I should have judged you
to be perfectly free from earthly care. You have no children; what can
be troubling you?"

"Would to Heaven I had children!" exclaimed Mr. Verner; and the remark
appeared to break from him involuntarily, in the bitterness of his
heart.

"You have your brother's son, your heir, Lionel."

"He is no heir of mine," returned Mr. Verner, with, if possible, double
bitterness.

"No heir of yours!" repeated Mr. Bitterworth, gazing at his friend, and
wondering whether he had lost his senses.

Mr. Verner, on his part, gazed on vacancy, his thoughts evidently cast
inwards. He sat in his old favourite attitude; his hands clasped on the
head of his stick, and his face bent down upon it. "Bitterworth," said
he presently "when I made my will years ago, after my father's death, I
appointed you one of the executors."

"I know it," replied Mr. Bitterworth. "I was associated--as you gave me
to understand--with Sir Rufus Hautley."

"Ay. After the boy came of age,"--and Mr. Bitterworth knew that he
alluded to Lionel--"I added his name to those of Sir Rufus and yourself.
Legacies apart, the estate was all left to him."

"Of course it was," assented Mr. Bitterworth.

"Since then, I have seen fit to make an alteration," continued Mr.
Verner. "I mention it to you, Bitterworth, that you may not be
surprised when you hear the will read. Also I would tell you that I made
the change of my own free act and judgment, unbiassed by any one, and
that I did not make it without ample cause. The estate is not left to
Lionel Verner, but to Frederick Massingbird."

Mr. Bitterworth had small round eyes, but they opened now to their
utmost width. "What did you say?" he repeated, after a pause, like a man
out of breath.

"Strictly speaking, the estate is not bequeathed to Frederick
Massingbird; he will inherit it in consequence of John's death," quietly
went on Mr. Verner. "It is left to John Massingbird, and to Frederick
after him, should he be the survivor. Failing them both----"

"And I am still executor?" interrupted Mr. Bitterworth, in a tone raised
rather above the orthodox key for a sick-room.

"You and Sir Rufus. That, so far, is not altered."

"Then I will not act. No, Stephen Verner, long and close as our
friendship has been, I will not coun