"Oh, but come, you know! a big sheet of parchment, sealed and inscribed, can't vanish in this way," exclaimed Mr. Barley. "It must be somewhere in the room." It might be, but nobody could find it. Mr. Barley got quite excited and angry: Mr. Edwin was calm throughout. Mr. Barley went to the door, calling out for Miss Delves. "Charlotte, come up here. Do you hear, Charlotte?" She ran up quickly, evidently wondering. "Look here," cried Mr. Barley, "Mrs. Edwin's will can't be found. It was left in this cabinet, my brother is told." "Oh, then Mrs. Edwin did make a will?" was the response of Charlotte Delves. "Yes; but it is gone," repeated Mr. Barley of the Oaks. "It cannot be gone," said Charlotte. "If the will was left in the cabinet, there it would be now." The old story was gone over again; nothing more. The will had been made, and as certainly placed there. The servants were honest, not capable of meddling with that or anything else. But there was no sign or symptom of a will left. "It is very strange," exclaimed Mr. Edwin Barley, looking furtively from the corner of his black eyes at most of us in succession, as if we were in league against him or against the will. "I will have the house searched throughout." The search took place that same evening. Himself, his brother, Mr. Gregg, and Charlotte Delves taking part in it. Entirely without success. And in my busy heart there was running a conviction all the while, that Mr. Edwin Barley had himself made away with the will. "Will you not act in accordance with its provisions, sir?" Mr. Gregg asked him as he was leaving. "I do not think I shall," said Mr. Edwin Barley. "Produce the will, and every behest in it shall be fulfilled. Failing a will, my wife's property becomes mine, and I shall act as I please by it." The days went by; ten unhappy days. I spent most of my time with Miss Delves, seeing scarcely anything of Mr. Edwin Barley. Part of the time he was staying at his brother's, but now and then I met him in the passages or the hall. He would give me a nod, and pass by. I cannot describe my state of feeling, or how miserable the house appeared to me: I was as one unsettled in it, as one who lived in constant discomfort, fear, and dread; though, of what, I could not define. Jemima remarked one day that "Miss Hereford went about moithered, like a fish out of water."