became inflexible with his disappointments and
affliction.

There was something even in the Rector's kind and ceremonious greeting
which oddly enough reflected the mixed feelings in which awe was not
without a place, with which his neighbours had regarded my dear father.

Having done the honours--I am sure looking woefully pale--I had time to
glance quietly at the only figure there with which I was not tolerably
familiar. This was the junior partner in the firm of Archer and Sleigh who
represented my uncle Silas--a fat and pallid man of six-and-thirty, with
a sly and evil countenance, and it has always seemed to me, that ill
dispositions show more repulsively in a pale fat face than in any other.

Doctor Bryerly, standing near the window, was talking in a low tone to Mr.
Grimston, our attorney.

I heard good Dr. Clay whisper to Mr. Danvers--

'Is not that Doctor Bryerly--the person with the black--the black--it's a
wig, I think--in the window, talking to Abel Grimston?'

'Yes; that's he.'

'Odd-looking person--one of the Swedenborg people, is not he?' continued
the Rector.

'So I am told.'

'Yes,' said the Rector, quietly; and he crossed one gaitered leg over the
other, and, with fingers interlaced, twiddled his thumbs, as he eyed
the monstrous sectary under his orthodox old brows with a stern
inquisitiveness. I thought he was meditating theologic battle.

But Dr. Bryerly and Mr. Grimston, still talking together, began to walk
slowly from the window, and the former said in his peculiar grim tones--

'I beg pardon, Miss Ruthyn; perhaps you would be so good as to show us
which of the cabinets in this room your late lamented father pointed out as
that to which this key belongs.'

I indicated the oak cabinet.

'Very good, ma'am--very good,' said Doctor Bryerly, as he fumbled the key
into the lock.

Cousin Monica could not forbear murmuring--

'Dear! what a brute!'

The junior partner, with his dumpy hands in his pocket, poked his fat face
over Mr. Grimston's shoulder, and peered into the cabinet as the door
opened.

The search was not long. A handsome white paper enclosure, neatly tied up
in pink tape, and sealed with large red seals, was inscribed in my dear
father's hand:--'Will of Austin R. Ruthyn, of Knowl.' Then, in smaller
characters, the date, and in the corner a note--'This will was drawn from
my instructions by Gaunt, Hogg, and Hatchett, Solicitors, Great Woburn
Street, London, A.R.R.'

'Le