r of my brother Jonathan
Burt, and the wife of Budlong Dinks, of Boston, the sum of five thousand
dollars."

The voice of Mr. Dinks faltered. His wife half rose and sat down
again--her face of a dark mahogany color. Fanny Newt sat perfectly still
and looked narrowly at her father-in-law, with an expression which was
very black and dangerous. Alfred had an air of troubled consternation,
as if something fearful were about to happen. The whole company were
disturbed. They seemed to be in an electrical condition of apprehension,
like the air before a thunder-burst.

Mr. Dinks continued:

"_Third_. I give to Alfred Dinks, my grand-nephew, my silver
shoe-buckles, which belonged to his great-grandfather Burt."

"_Fourth._ And all the other estate, real and personal, of which I may
die seized, I give, devise, and bequeath to Budlong Dinks, Timothy Kingo,
and Selah Sutler, in trust, nevertheless, and for the sole use, behoof,
and benefit of my dearly-beloved grand-daughter, Hope Wayne."

Mr. Dinks stopped. There were some papers annexed, containing directions
for collecting the annuity to be paid to Mrs. Simcoe, and a schedule of
the property. The Honorable B. Dinks looked hastily at the schedule.

"Miss Wayne's property will be at least a million of dollars," said he,
in a formal voice.

There were a few moments of utter silence. Even the legal gentlemen
ceased buzzing; but presently the forefinger of one of them was laid in
the palm of his other hand, and as he stated his proposition to his
neighbor, a light conversation began again.

Mrs. Fanny Dinks Newt seemed to have been smitten. She sat crushed up, as
it were, biting her nails nervously; her brow wrinkled incredulously, and
glaring at her father-in-law, as he folded the paper. Her face grew
altogether as black as her hair and her eyes; as if she might discharge a
frightful flash and burst of tempest if she were touched or spoken to,
or even looked at.

But Mrs. Dinks the elder did look at her, not at all with an air of
sullen triumph, but, on the contrary, with a singularly inquisitive
glance of apprehension and alarm, as if she felt that the petty trial of
wits between them was insignificant compared with the chances of Alfred's
happiness. In one moment it flashed upon her mind that the consequences
of this will to her Alfred--to her son whom she loved--would be
overwhelming. Good Heavens! she turned pale as she thought of him and
Fanny together.

The young