‘Gad!’ said Kilpatrick, ‘I’ve a mind to do it, if only to spite my brother Dick. Peebles, do you think I’m a fool? Do you think I don’t know Dick Conseltine? He’s looking forward to my funeral. He wants the estate for young spindleshanks, my nephew. Suppose I showed him a trick worth two of that, eh? Ha, ha!’ His lordship’s rather spiteful chuckle was cut short by a rap at the door. Peebles opened it, and Mr. Conseltine appeared. ‘My dear Henry,’ he said, advancing solicitously, ‘I trust you are better?’ ‘Yes, yes,’ said Kilpatrick uneasily; ‘but----’ ‘In that case,’ said Conseltine, smoothly interrupting him, ‘may I talk to you privately for a few minutes?’ ‘If you desire,’ said his brother. ‘Don’t go, Peebles. Never mind Peebles, Dick He’s my conscience, my--my _alter ego_--eh, Peebles?’ ‘As it is a family matter,’ said Conseltine, ‘I would prefer----’ ‘Peebles is one of the family,’ said his lordship; ‘I’ve no secrets from him.’ ‘Very good,’ said Conseltine, suffering no shade of annoyance to cloud his smooth face. ‘Mr. Peebles doubtless agrees with me that you exaggerate the gravity of your condition, and that, unless you specially desire it, the drawing up of a new will can be postponed. In the will already placed in my possession you, as is natural, devise the bulk of your estate to your next-of-kin. Do I understand that you desire to alter or modify that arrangement?’ His lordship, nervously interlacing his fingers, glanced at Peebles. ‘Tell your brother the truth, my lord. Tell him ye wish to leave the estates to your own begotten son.’ ‘My brother has no son, Mr. Peebles,’ said Conseltine sternly. ‘Ay has he,’ said Peebles--‘Desmond Macartney.’ ‘The fruit of a foolish liaison with a peasant. My dear Henry----’ ‘Peebles is right, Dick,’ said Kilpatrick. ‘Desmond should be my heir.’ ‘My dear Henry!’ said Conseltine, ‘you must surely be mad. Proclaim your folly to the world! Acknowledge a waif and stray as your flesh and blood! It is simply midsummer madness! Thank God, whatever you do with any portion of your personal possessions, you can’t pass your patrimonial title to one born out of wedlock.’ Kilpatrick looked from his brother to Peebles, and back again, interlacing his fingers and dragging them apart. ‘Faith,’ he said, ‘that’s true, that’s true, Peebles. The title must go to my next-of-kin. It must go. There’s no help for it, and the title, with nothing to support it! eh? You must see that, Peebles. Gad, I’m sorry--I’m devilish sorry!’ He rose. ‘Never mind, Peebles, Desmond shan’t be forgotten. Trust me, he shan’t be forgotten.’ Conseltine offered him his arm, and he took it with a glance at his servant. ‘Ay, my lord,’ said Peebles, with an immovable face, ‘lean on your brother. It’s good to have loving kith and kin.’ Voices and laughter were heard from the landing without, and a moment later Dulcie, with Desmond at her heels, entered the room. CHAPTER III.--MR. PEEBLES RECEIVES A MESSAGE.