“Yes, Mrs Clifford—I beg your pardon, Mrs Summerhayes—exactly _that_ deed,” said the solicitor; “and you should not lose a moment in executing it over again—not a moment, especially considering that Charley is just of age.” “_That_ deed!” cried Mary; “oh Tom!” She turned to him in simple distress and lamentation; but he met her eyes with such a strange defiance, and the colour rose so perceptibly in his cheek, that Mary stopped short petrified. What did it mean? She turned round alarmed, and met the curious eyes of old Gateshead, who was studying her looks, with something like confusion. For the moment her heart, as she thought, stopped beating in poor Mary’s troubled breast. “You should not lose a moment—it ought to be done over again,” said the old man, “while I am here, to prevent any informality. It ought at once to be done over again.” “Mrs Summerhayes unfortunately has no power to do anything,” said her husband. “No such unfortunate chance was calculated upon at our marriage. No right was reserved to her of making any settlement. You know that well enough, Gateshead.” “That can be obviated by your joining with her,” said the lawyer. “You could do that, at least, till there’s time to take advice on the subject; for burning only revokes where there’s an intention of revoking, as you’re aware, Mr Summerhayes—and so long as we can prove what was the general purport——” “In that case, there’s no need for doing anything further,” said the master of Fontanel. “But the matter is too important to be left on a chance,” said the old lawyer, anxiously; “nobody can ever tell what may happen. For Charley’s sake you ought not to lose an hour. I’ll draw up a draft——” “Oh, Tom, listen to Mr Gateshead!” cried poor Mary, trying to smile, though her heart felt as if it were breaking, as she laid a timid, beseeching hand on his arm. Her husband threw her hand lightly off, and turned away. “There is no reason in the world why we should rush into fresh documents,” he said. “Stuff! we are not going to die to-day; and if we did die to-day, why, Mary, your heirs are as safe as ever they were. I’ll think it over, Gateshead, and see Courtenay about it. There is no hurry; and, upon my word, whatever you may think on the subject, I have had about enough of excitement for one day.” “Does your head ache, Tom?” said Mrs Summerhayes. “Abominably; and look here,” said her husband, exhibiting his hands, which were considerably burned, “if I am to be made fit for presentation to-morrow, you’ll have to nurse me, Mary. Come along, I have a great deal to talk to you about. I beg your pardon, Gateshead, but now that everything is safe, considering what I have before me to-morrow, I must get a little rest.” “Then I am to understand that you refuse to do anything in place of the deed that has been burned,” said the old lawyer.