testable little man! She finds some consolation in the thought that
at all events his time is nearly over; that probably--nay, surely--he
is now about to administer law for the last time at Herst.

He bows in silence to the rest of the company,--with marked deference
to Miss Massereene,--and then involuntarily each one stirs in his or
her seat and settles down to hear the will read.

A will is a mighty thing, and requires nice handling. Would that I were
lawyer enough to give you this particular one in full, with all its
many bequests and curious directions. But, alas! ignorance forbids. The
sense lingers with me, but all the technicalities and running phrases
and idiotic repetitions have escaped me.

To most of those present Mr. Amherst has left bequests; to Lady
Stafford five thousand pounds; to Plantagenet Potts two thousand
pounds; to Mrs. Darley's son the same; to all the servants handsome
sums of money, together with a year's wages; to Mrs. Nesbit, the
housekeeper, two hundred pounds a year for her life. And then the
attorney pauses and assumes an important air, and every one knows the
end is nigh.

All the rest of his property of which he died possessed--all the
houses, lands, and moneys--all personal effects--"I give and bequeath
to----"

Here Mr. Buscarlet, either purposely or otherwise, stops short to cough
and blow a sonorous note upon his nose. All eyes are fixed upon him;
some, even more curious or eager than the others, are leaning forward
in their chairs. Even Philip has turned from the window and is waiting
breathlessly.

"To my beloved grandchild, Eleanor Massereene!"

Not a sound follows this announcement, not a movement. Then Marcia half
rises from her seat; and Mr. Buscarlet, putting up his hand, says,
hurriedly, "There is a codicil," and every one prepares once more to
listen.

But the codicil produces small effect. The old man at the last moment
evidently relented so far in his matchless severity as to leave Marcia
Amherst ten thousand pounds (and a sealed envelope, which Mr. Buscarlet
hands her), on the condition that she lives out of England; and to
Philip Shadwell ten thousand pounds more,--and another sealed
envelope,--which the attorney also delivers on the spot.

As the reading ceases, another silence, even more profound than the
first, falls upon the listeners. No one speaks, no one so much as
glances at the other.

Marcia, ghastly, rigid, rises from her seat.

"It is false,"