"This is like being at sea a week, without getting a sight of the sun! I
am all adrift, now, gentlemen."

"Sir Wycherly does not attend to his cases," put in Atwood, drily. "At
one time, he is in the _genitive_, and then he gets back to the
_nominative_; which is leaving us in the _vocative_"

"Come--come--Atwood, none of your gun-room wit, on an occasion so solemn
as this. My dear Sir Wycherly, have you any thing more to tell us? I
believe we perfectly understand you, now. Tom is not _whole_--you wish
to say _nullus_, and not to say _nullius_. Sir Reginald is only _half_,
but he is no _nullus_."

"Yes, sir--that is it," returned the old man, smiling. "_Half_, but no
_nullus_. Change my mind--seen too much of the other, lately--Tom, my
nephew--want to make _him_ my heir."

"This is getting clearer, out of all question. You wish to make your
nephew, Tom, your heir. But the law does that already, does it not my
dear sir? Mr. Baron Wychecombe was the next brother of the baronet; was
he not, Mr. Rotherham?"

"So I have always understood, sir; and Mr. Thomas Wychecombe must be the
heir at law."

"No--no--_nullus_--_nullus_," repeated Sir Wycherly, with so much
eagerness as to make his voice nearly indistinct; "Sir Reginald--Sir
Reginald--Sir Reginald."

"And pray, Mr. Rotherham, who may this Sir Reginald be? Some old baronet
of the family, I presume."

"Not at all, sir; it is Sir Reginald Wychecombe of Wychecombe-Regis,
Herts; a baronet of Queen Anne's time, and a descendant from a cadet of
this family, I am told."

"This is getting on soundings--I had taken it into my head this Sir
Reginald was some old fellow of the reign of one of the Plantagenets.
Well, Sir Wycherly, do you wish us to send an express into
Hertfordshire, in quest of Sir Reginald Wychecombe, who is quite likely
your executor? Do not give yourself the pain to speak; a sign will
answer."

Sir Wycherly seemed struck with the suggestion, which, the reader will
readily understand, was far from being his real meaning; and then he
smiled, and nodded his head in approbation.

Sir Gervaise, with the prompitude of a man of business, turned to the
table where the vicar had written notes to the medical men, and dictated
a short letter to his secretary. This letter he signed, and in five
minutes Atwood left the room, to order it to be immediately forwarded by
express. When this was done, the admiral rubbed his hands, in
satisfaction, like a man who felt