Then came stains that defaced every line, till the extreme end, where a seal remained; the date 1707 was legible, and there were some scrawls, probably the poor lady’s signature, and perhaps that of witnesses. Clarence and Martyn said very little to one another, but they set out for Dawlish the next day. ‘Found’ was indicated to us, but no more, for they arrived late, and had to sleep at the hotel, after an evening when we were delighted to hear my mother ask so many questions about household and parish affairs. In the morning she was pleased to send all ‘the children’ out on the beach, then free from the railway. It was a beautiful day, with the intensely blue South Devon sea dancing in golden ripples, and breaking on the shore with the sound Clarence loved so well, as, in the shade of the dark crimson cliffs, Emily sat at my feet and my brothers unfolded their strange discoveries into her lap. There was a kind of solemnity in the thing; we scarcely spoke, except that Emily said, ‘Oh, will she come again,’ and, as the tears gathered at sight of the pathetic petition in the old book, ‘Was that granted?’ We reconstructed our theory. The poor lady must have repented of the unjust will forced from her by her stepsons, and contrived to make another; but she must have been kept a captive until, during their absence at some Christmas convivialities, she tried to escape; but hearing sounds betokening their return, she had only time to hide the bundle in the ruin before she was detected, and in the scuffle received a fatal blow. ‘But why,’ I objected, ‘did she not remain hidden till her enemies were safe in the house?’ ‘Terrified beyond the use of her senses,’ said Clarence. ‘By all accounts,’ said Martyn, ‘the poor creature must have been rather a silly woman.’ ‘For shame, Martyn,’ cried Emily, ‘how can you tell? They might have seen her go in, or she might have feared being missed.’ ‘Or if you watch next Christmas you may see it all explained.’ To which Emily replied with a shiver that nothing would induce her to go through it again, and indeed she hoped the spirit would rest since the discovery had been made. ‘And then?’—one of us said, and there was a silence, and another futile attempt to read the will. ‘I shall take it to London and see what an expert can do with it,’ said Clarence. ‘I have heard of wonderful decipherings in the Record Office; but you will remember that even if it can be made out, it will hardly invalidate our possession after a hundred and thirty years.’ ‘Clarence!’ cried Emily in a horrified voice; and I asked if the date were not later than that by which we inherited. ‘Three years,’ Clarence said, ‘yes; but as things stand, it is absolutely impossible for me to make restitution at present.’ ‘On account of the burthens on the estate?’ I said. ‘Oh, but we could give up,’ said Emily.