my uncle Silas, and for a moment I thought of
returning and requesting an explanation. But then, I bethought me, it was
not very long to wait till one o'clock--so _he_, at least, would think. I
went up-stairs, therefore, to the 'school-room,' which we used at present
as a sitting-room, and there I found Cousin Monica awaiting me.

'Are you quite well, dear?' asked Lady Knollys, as she came to meet and
kiss me.

'Quite well, Cousin Monica.'

'No nonsense, Maud! you're as white as that handkerchief--what's the
matter? Are you ill--are you frightened? Yes, you're trembling--you're
terrified, child.'

'I believe I _am_ afraid. There _is_ something in poor papa's will about
Uncle Silas--about _me_. I don't know--Doctor Bryerly says, and he seems so
uncomfortable and frightened himself, I am sure it is something very bad. I
am _very_ much frightened--I am--I _am_. Oh, Cousin Monica! you won't leave
me?'

So I threw my arms about her neck, clasping her very close, and we kissed
one another, I crying like a frightened child--and indeed in experience of
the world I was no more.

CHAPTER XXIV

_THE OPENING OF THE WILL_

Perhaps the terror with which I anticipated the hour of one, and the
disclosure of the unknown undertaking to which I had bound myself, was
irrational and morbid. But, honestly, I doubt it; my tendency has always
been that of many other weak characters, to act impetuously, and afterwards
to reproach myself for consequences which I have, perhaps, in reality, had
little or no share in producing.

It was Doctor Bryerly's countenance and manner in alluding to a particular
provision in my father's will that instinctively awed me. I have seen faces
in a nightmare that haunted me with an indescribable horror, and yet I
could not say wherein lay the fascination. And so it was with his--an omen,
a menace, lurked in its sallow and dismal glance.

'You must not be so frightened, darling,' said Cousin Monica. 'It is
foolish; it _is, really_; they can't cut off your head, you know: they
can't really harm you in any essential way. If it involved a risk of a
little money, you would not mind it; but men are such odd creatures--they
measure all sacrifices by money. Doctor Bryerly would look just as you
describe, if you were doomed to lose 500_l_., and yet it would not kill
you.'

A companion like Lady Knollys is reassuring; but I could not take her
comfort altogether to heart, for I felt that she had no grea