“Instructions?” she repeated, with a puzzled air; “I will give them all to Mrs. North, and you can take them from her. You will not think me inhospitable if I ask you to leave me now, Mr. Boughton? I am very tired. Tell me, did they send for you when William Rammage died?” “They telegraphed for me immediately, and when I got to the office I found your letter waiting for me—the one you wrote before you left London, giving me your address here.” She did not hear him; her eyes had closed again, and her chin rested down on the lavender ribbons; the sunshine came in and lighted up her face, and that which Mr. Boughton saw written on it was unmistakable. “You are quite right, my dear madam,” he said to Mrs. North, as he sat partaking of the refreshment Aunt Anne had devised for him; “it has come too late.” He looked at his watch when he had finished. “I have only a quarter of an hour to stay,” he said. “Before I go, would you give me some explanation of the extraordinary statements you made on my arrival?” “You shall have it,” Mrs. North answered eagerly; “but wait one moment, till I have taken this egg and wine to Mrs. Baines and seen that the maid is with her.” “That’s a remarkably handsome girl,” the lawyer thought, when she had disappeared; “I wonder where I have heard her name before, and who she is?” But this speculation was entirely forgotten when he heard the story of his nephew’s doings of the last few months. “God bless my soul!” he exclaimed; “why, he might be sent to prison with hard labour—and serve him right, the scoundrel.” “I am delighted to hear you say it,” Mrs. North answered impulsively. “Please shake hands with me. I am ashamed to say I thought it all a conspiracy, even after you came, and that is why I was so disagreeable.” “Conspiracy, my dear madam?—why, the last thing I did to Wimple was to kick him out of my office; and I have been worried by his duns ever since. As for the will she made in his favour, get it destroyed at once, or he may give us no end of trouble yet. She has virtually given me instructions for a new one. I told her I would come in a day or two, but I think it would be safer to come to-morrow. It will have to be rather late in the day, I am afraid, but I can sleep at the inn. In the meantime get the other will destroyed. Why, bless me! if she died to-night it might make an awful scandal; I would not have it happen for all I am worth.” Mr. Boughton departed; and the doctor came, and gave so bad a report that Mrs. North sent off yet another telegram to Walter and Florence—this time in London—asking them not to waste a moment on their arrival, but to come straight to Witley. And then the second post brought her the morning’s letters which had been sent on. Among them was one with the Naples postmark, which she tore open with feverish haste and could scarcely read for tears of joy.