For a second or two he peered up into her face with contracted lids, as if not quite sure about her identity. Then, with an inarticulate noise, which seemed more indicative of anger and repulsion than of anything else, he raised both his hands and pushed her rather roughly away. Mrs. Bullivant went back to her chair with a somewhat heightened color in her cheeks. "Poor dear!" she said in an undertone; "it is quite evident that he no longer knows what he is about." And so daylight slid slowly into dark, and the two women still kept watch on either side of the bed. Dr. Banks, with a cheerful fire and a magnum of port to keep him company, sat below in the library--merely for form's sake, and because it would be an injustice to his wife, and family not to make his bill as long a one as possible while the chance was his of doing so. For some hours the dying man's skin had been gradually changing color, till now it had become of one uniform leaden blue tint. Dr. Banks, who stepped upstairs for a couple of minutes every half-hour or so, said to himself that it must be one of the effects of "that damned drug." Midnight was drawing on. For upwards of an hour Mr. Cortelyon had been lying to all appearance in a comatose state, when of a sudden he opened his eyes and raised himself in bed without help--a thing he had not done for days past. "The will! the will!--get it and destroy it before it's too late!" he cried in harsh, insistent tones, punctuated by gasps. "I've done wrong--wrong. I know it now--I feel it. To my grandson all--all! To that woman"--pointing to the shocked Mrs. Bullivant--"nothing. Send at once--not a minute's delay. Piljoy has it. Or else it will be too late--too late!" Alas! it was already too late. He sank back, gasping for breath, with eyes that were already beginning to glaze. Five minutes later all was over. Mrs. Bullivant dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. "Poor dear! I am so thankful he did not suffer much," she said. "That he should wander a little in his mind at the last is not to be wondered at. Nearly all aged people do that when they are dying." CHAPTER XVII. AN ASTOUNDING DISCOVERY. It was five days later. The funeral was over. Everything had been done decently and in order, and in the great drawing-room at Stanbrook, the shutters of which of late years had been rarely opened, a small company were assembled, by invitation of Mr. Piljoy, to hear the reading of the dead man's will. Miss Baynard and Mrs. Budd sat together on one of the couches; a little way removed, in stately isolation, sat Mrs. Bullivant; while Mrs. Dace, the housekeeper, remained modestly in the background, with Andry Luce and two or three other old servants to keep her company.