he come from the north of Tweed."

This was quietly said, but the vice-admiral felt the merited rebuke it
contained, and he had the good-nature and the good sense to laugh at it,
and to admit his own prejudices. This little encounter brought the party
to Sir Wycherly's door, where all three remained until it was
ascertained that they might enter.

The next quarter of an hour brought about a great change in the
situation of all the principal inmates of Wychecombe Hall. The interdict
was taken off the rooms of Sir Wycherly, and in them had collected all
the gentlemen, Mrs. Dutton and her daughter, with three or four of the
upper servants of the establishment. Even Galleygo contrived to thrust
his ungainly person in, among the rest, though he had the discretion to
keep in the background among his fellows. In a word, both dressing-room
and bed-room had their occupants, though the last was principally filled
by the medical men, and those whose rank gave them claims to be near the
person of the sick.

It was now past a question known that poor Sir Wycherly was on his
death-bed. His mind had sensibly improved, nor was his speech any worse;
but his physical system generally had received a shock that rendered
recovery hopeless. It was the opinion of the physicians that he might
possibly survive several days; or, that he might be carried off, in a
moment, by a return of the paralytic affection.

The baronet, himself, appeared to be perfectly conscious of his
situation; as was apparent by the anxiety he expressed to get his
friends together, and more especially the concern he felt to make a due
disposition of his worldly affairs. The medical men had long resisted
both wishes, until, convinced that the question was reduced to one of a
few hours more or less of life, and that denial was likely to produce
worse effects than compliance, they finally and unanimously consented.

"It's no a great concession to mortal infirmity to let a dying man have
his way," whispered Magrath to the two admirals, as the latter entered
the room. "Sir Wycherly is a hopeless case, and we'll just consent to
let him make a few codicils, seeing that he so fairvently desires it;
and then there may be fewer hopeless deevils left behind him, when he's
gathered to his forefathers."

"Here we are, my dear Sir Wycherly," said the vice-admiral, who never
lost an occasion to effect his purpose, by any unnecessary delay; "here
we all are anxious to comply with