Mrs. Markson’s lawyer asked permission to look at the newer will, which the judge granted. He looked carefully at the signature of Markson and the witnesses, and returned the document with a sigh. “Don’t attempt it, madame—no use,” said he. “I know all the signatures; seen them a hundred times. I’m sorry, very—affects _my_ pocket some, for it cuts some of my prospective fees, but—_that_ will can’t be broken.” Mrs. Markson turned, looked at Helen a second, and then dashed at her, as if “to scatter, tear and slay,” as the old funeral hymn says. Helen stumbled and cowered a little toward me, seeing which I—how on earth I came to do it I don’t know—put my arm around her, and looked indignantly at Mrs. Markson. “You treacherous hussy!” said Mrs. Markson, stamping her foot—“you scheming little minx! I could kill you! I could tear you to pieces! I could drink your very heart’s blood—I could——” What else she could do she was prevented from telling, for she fell into a fit, and was carried out rigid and foaming at the mouth. I am generally sorry to see even wicked people suffer, but I wasn’t a bit sorry to see Mrs. Markson; for, while she was talking, poor Helen trembled so violently that it seemed to me she would be scared to death if her cruel stepmother talked much longer. Two hours later Mrs. Markson, with all her relatives and personal effects, left the house, and six months afterward Mrs. Markson entrapped some other rich man into marrying her. She never tried to break Markson’s will. As Helen was utterly ignorant of the existence of this new will until she heard it read, the judge explained to her where it came from; and as she was naturally anxious for all the particulars of its discovery, the judge sent me to her to tell her the whole story. So I dressed myself and drove down—for, though still under thirty, I was well off, and drove my own span—and told her of my interview with her father, on his deathbed, as well as of the scene on the night he hid the will. As I told the latter part of the story a reverent, loving, self-forgetful look came into her face, and made her seem to me like an angel. As for myself, the recalling of the incident, now that I knew its sequel, prevented my keeping my eyes dry. I felt a little ashamed of myself and hurried away, but her look while I spoke of her father, and her trembling form in my arms while Mrs. Markson raved at her, were constantly in my mind, and muddled a great many important estimates. They finally troubled me so that I drove down again and had a long and serious talk with Helen.