"Quite. I shall not be surprised to learn that he's dead already. You are losing your chances of becoming a well-to-do widow by lingering here." "You are certain he will leave me twenty thousand pounds?" "The simple fact of his death will make it yours. So soon as the breath is out of his body you will become entitled to a wife's inheritance--if you are his wife." "You are not playing me any trick? It is all just as you say?" "On my honour, it is all just as I say. There is no trick. If you will come with me upstairs you will be able to judge for yourself." "But how can we be married at a moment's notice? Is there a clergyman in the house?" "You forget you are in Scotland. Neither notice nor clergyman is needed. It will be sufficient for you to recognise each other as husband and wife in the presence of witnesses; that act of mutual recognition will in itself constitute a legal marriage which all the lawyers will not be able to break. That is why it will be easier for him to marry than to make another will." "There is not the least doubt that he will be dead within two hours?" "Not the least--unless a miracle intervenes." She was sitting with her hands clenched in her lap, a perceptible interval of silence intervening before the words burst from her lips-- "Then I'll marry him!" CHAPTER III WHOM GOD HATH JOINED Dr. Twelves showed no sign of either surprise or gratification. He looked at her dispassionately, almost apathetically, from under his overhanging eyebrows. "Can you walk upstairs without assistance?" "I'm afraid not. I don't think my ankle is any better." He stooped down. "It's swollen; it looks as if it were going to be an awkward business. Your boot and stocking will have to be cut away; but there's no time to do it now--moments are precious. You will have to wait until you're married. It's only on the first floor. Do you think you'll be able to get up with the aid of my arm and of the baluster?" "I'll try." "Might I suggest, before we start, that it would do no harm if you were to remove your hat and jacket. It would seem more in keeping." She acted on his suggestion. "I ought to wash and tidy myself; I know I'm all anyhow." "Now you will do very well. Your future husband is too far gone to be able to tell if your hair is straight or crooked; at the point he's reached that sort of thing doesn't matter." When they had reached the landing at the top of the stairs the doctor said to her: "By the way, the name of your future husband is Grahame--Cuthbert Grahame. May I ask what yours is? It is just as well that he should know it." She hesitated a moment. "My name is Isabel Burney." "Miss Burney, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Grahame's room."