The amazement in the nurse’s eye gave way to a look of deference, and she bowed slightly. The doctor nodded his head, and both took their stand at the foot of the small cot. The man in the adjoining bed neither murmured nor moved. Had they looked at him, they would have doubtless thought his sleep was doing him but little good, for his pallor had increased and an icy sweat glistened on his forehead. “Mr. Hazlitt’s property,” continued the stranger in a low and mechanical tone, “consists entirely of money. Is that not so?” he asked, smiling upon the dazed but yet strangely happy face of the patient lying before him. “Namely, this roll of bills, amounting as you see to five thousand dollars, and this small package of banknotes, of which the amount is not stated, but of whose value he is probably aware. Are you willing,” and he turned to the doctor, “to take charge of these valuables, and see that they are forthcoming at the proper time?” The doctor bowed, glanced at his patient, and meeting his eager eye, took the roll of bills and the package, and putting them into his breast pocket, remarked, “I will have them placed in the safe deposit vaults to-morrow.” “Very well,” cried the stranger; “that will be all right, will it not?” he asked, consulting in his turn the man before him. Mr. Hazlitt, as they called him, gave him a short look, smiled again, and said: “You know best; anything, so that my Lucy gets her five thousand.” The stranger, straightening himself, asked if he could not have more light, at which the nurse brought a candle. Immediately the stranger took a paper from under his cloak and opened it. The nurse held the candle and the stranger began to read: The last will and testament of Abram Hazlitt of Chicago, Cook county, Illinois. First: I direct all my just debts and funeral expenses to be paid. Second: I give, devise, and bequeath to—— “Is your daughter’s name Lucy, and is the sum you wish given her five thousand dollars exact?” asked the stranger, sitting down at the small table near by and taking out a pen from his pocket. “Yes,” was the feeble response, “five thousand dollars to Lucy Ellen, my only and much-beloved child.” The stranger rapidly wrote in the words, adding, “she lives in Chicago, I suppose.” It was the nurse who answered: “She is in this hospital, too, sir; but not for any mortal complaint. Time and care will restore her.” The stranger went on reading: I give, devise, and bequeath to my only and much-loved child, Lucy Ellen of Chicago, Cook county, Illinois, the sum of five thousand dollars. Second: I give, devise, and bequeath to—— “Did you say the name was Mary Earle, and that she lived in Hamilton, —— county, Massachusetts?” he interjected, looking inquiringly at the man whose sagacity he thus trusted. “Yes, yes,” was the hurried, almost faint answer. “You know, you know; go on quickly, for I’m feeling very weak.”