his system had received. He might linger a little; might hold out longer
than they expected; but his life was a question of hours.

The doomed man had seemed from the first to have a conviction of the
truth, and appeared in no manner surprised when, in answer to his
questions, the Malsham doctor admitted that his case was fatal, and
suggested that, if he had anything to do in the adjustment of his
affairs, he could scarcely do it too soon. At this Mr. Whitelaw groaned
aloud. If he could in any manner have adjusted his affairs so as to take
his money with him, the suggestion might have seemed sensible enough;
but, that being impracticable, it was the merest futility. He had never
made a will; it cost him too much anguish to give away his money even on
paper. And now it was virtually necessary that he should do so, or else,
perhaps, his wealth would, by some occult process, be seized upon by the
crown--a power which he had been accustomed to regard in the abstract
with an antagonistic feeling, as being the root of queen's taxes. To
leave all to his wife, with some slight pension to Mrs. Tadman, seemed
the most obvious course. He had married for love, and the wife of his
choice had been very dutiful and submissive. What more could he have
demanded from her? and why should he grudge her the inheritance of his
wealth? Well, he would not have grudged it to her, perhaps, since some
one must have it, if it had not been for that aggravating conviction that
she would marry again, and that the man she preferred to him would riot
in the possession of his hardly-earned riches. She would marry Frank
Randall; and between them they would mismanage, and ultimately ruin, the
farm. He remembered the cost of the manure he had put upon his fields
that year, and regretted that useless outlay. It was a hard thing to have
enriched his land only that others might profit by the produce.

"And if I've laid down a yard of drain-pipes since last year, I've laid
down a dozen mile. There's not a bit of swampy ground or a patch of sour
grass on the farm," he thought bitterly.

He lay for some hours deliberating as to what he should do. Death was near,
but not so very close to him just yet. He had time to think. No, come what
might, he would not leave the bulk of his property to fall into the keeping
of Frank Randall.

He remembered that there were charitable institutions, to which a man,
not wishing to enrich an ungrateful race, might bequeath his