one after
another. When I only think of it, my mind seems to fall back into the
helpless surprise and confusion of that time. After all that had passed
between us--the man himself being then on his way to the house! what
would he think of me when he saw my name at the bottom of the document?
what, in Heaven's name, was I to do?

How long I sat petrified, with the document on my lap, I never knew.
Somebody knocked at the schoolroom door, and looked in and said
something, and went out again. Then there was an interval. Then the
door was opened again. A hand was laid kindly on my shoulder. I looked
up--and there was Mrs. Fosdyke, asking, in the greatest alarm, what was
the matter with me.

The tone of her voice roused me into speaking. I could think of nothing
but Mr. Sax; I could only say, "Has he come?"

"Yes--and waiting to see you."

Answering in those terms, she glanced at the paper in my lap. In the
extremity of my helplessness, I acted like a sensible creature at last.
I told Mrs. Fosdyke all that I have told here.

She neither moved nor spoke until I had done. Her first proceeding,
after that, was to take me in her arms and give me a kiss. Having so far
encouraged me, she next spoke of poor Sir Gervase.

"We all acted like fools," she announced, "in needlessly offending him
by protesting against his second marriage. I don't mean you--I mean his
son, his nephew, and myself. If his second marriage made him happy, what
business had we with the disparity of years between husband and wife?
I can tell you this, Sextus was the first of us to regret what he
had done. But for his stupid fear of being suspected of an interested
motive, Sir Gervase might have known there was that much good in his
sister's son."

She snatched up a copy of the will, which I had not even noticed thus
far.

"See what the kind old man says of you," she went on, pointing to the
words. I could not see them; she was obliged to read them for me. "I
leave my money to the one person living who has been more than worthy of
the little I have done for her, and whose simple unselfish nature I know
that I can trust."

I pressed Mrs. Fosdyke's hand; I was not able to speak. She took up the
legal paper next.

"Do justice to yourself, and be above contemptible scruples," she said.
"Sextus is fond enough of you to be almost worthy of the sacrifice that
you are making. Sign--and I will sign next as the witness."

I hesitated.

"What will he think