"'Hiram Huckins.' "It was the name attached to the telegram. "'And you are the brother of this woman?' "'Yes, yes.' "I had addressed him, but I looked at her. She answered my look with a steadfast gaze, but there was no dissent in it, and I considered that point settled. "'She is a married woman, then?' "'A widow; husband died long years ago.' "'Any children?' "'No.' And I saw in her face that he spoke the truth. "'But you and she have brothers or sisters? You are not her only relative?' "'I am the only one who has stuck by her,' he sullenly answered. 'We did have a sister, but she is gone; fled from home years ago; lost in the great world; dead, perhaps. _She_ don't care for her; ask her.' "I did ask her, but the haggard face said nothing. The eyes burned, but they had a waiting look. "'To whom do you want to leave your property?' I inquired of her pointedly. "Had she glanced at the man, had her face even changed, or so much as a tremor shook her rigid form, I might have hesitated. But the quiet way in which she lifted her hand and pointed with one finger in his direction while she looked straight at me, convinced me that whatever was wrong, her mind was made up as to the disposal of her property. So taking out my papers, I sat down on the rude bench drawn up beside the bed and began to write. "The man stood behind me with the lamp. He was so eager and bent over me so closely that the smell of the lamp and his nearness were more than I could bear. "'Set down the lamp,' I cried. 'Get a table--something--don't lean over me like that.' "But there was nothing, actually nothing for him to put the lamp on, and I was forced to subdue my disgust and get used as best I could to his presence and to his great shadow looming on the wall behind us. But I could not get used to her eyes hurrying me, and my hand trembled as I wrote. "'Have you any name but Cynthia?' I inquired, looking up. "She painfully shook her head. "'You had better tell me what her husband's name was,' I suggested to the brother. "'John Lapham Wakeham,' was the quick reply. "I wrote down both names. Then I said, looking intently at the dying widow: "'As you cannot speak, you must make signs. Shake your hand when you wish to say no, and move it up and down when you wish to say yes. Do you understand?' "She signalled somewhat impatiently that she did, and then, lifting her hand with a tremulous movement, pointed anxiously towards a large Dutch clock, which was the sole object of adornment in the room. "'She urges you to hurry,' whispered the man. 'Make it short, make it short. The doctor I called in this morning said she might die any minute.' "As from her appearance I judged this to be only too possible, I hastily wrote a few words more, and then asked: "'Is this property all that you have to leave?' "I had looked at her, though I knew it would be the man who would answer. "'Yes, yes, this house,' he cried. 'Put it strong; this house and all there is in it.'