After the funeral, Mr. Blight and Mr. Harris the lawyer returned to the mansion in Mount street, and the latter summoned Mrs. Blight, Lally and Peters, to hear the will read. Mrs. Blight swept in, clad in the deepest mourning, her garments covered deep with crape, a black-bordered handkerchief held at her eyes. Mr. Blight placed an armed chair for her near the hearth, the October day being chilly, and took a seat at her side with quite an air of proprietorship of the house. Lally, in deep mourning, came next, with the faithful Peters, also in mourning habiliments. Mr. Harris placed a chair for Lally, and Peters sat near her young mistress, to whose service she intended to devote herself. Mr. Harris then, with preparatory clearings of his throat, read the will. It commenced by declaring the testator of sound mind, being the usual formula, and proceeded with an enumeration of property at which the Blights grew inwardly radiant. “All this, my real and personal property,” read Mr. Harris, in effect, “I give and bequeath, absolutely and without reserve, to--my beloved great-niece, Lally Bird, the daughter of John Bird and Clara Mulford Percy his wife, to her and to her heirs and assigns forever.” The Blights gasped for breath. Lally’s countenance did not change. She knew that her days of poverty were over; that she would never again wander shelterless and forlorn, glad to find shelter at night in a barn, and famished for food. All that distress for her was forever past. Her comfort and prosperity had been secured by the tenderness of her kindly and eccentric old relative, but Lally would willingly have gone back to her old-time poverty and toil, if by so doing she might have recalled her good friend from her grave. “I say, this is simply infamous!” gasped Mr. Blight, turning upon Mr. Harris fiercely. “Infamous, sir! Do you know whose money, sir, this wretched old dotard has willed away so lightly? I’ll tell you, sir. It was my late uncle’s. It should be mine--and, by Heaven, it shall be mine. I’ll appeal to the law. I’ll contest the will!” “Are you a lawyer? Why do you talk so childishly?” demanded Mr. Harris. “The property of which Mrs. Wroat has disposed was hers absolutely, to dispose of as she pleased. If your late uncle had wished to provide for you, he would have done so. You are no relative of Mrs. Wroat, and you ought to know that if you contest the will, you won’t get a penny. The girl would get it just the same--at least a portion of it--even if you succeeded in breaking the will, which you can’t. Mrs. Wroat was indisputably in sound mind when she dictated that will. Under any circumstances, Mr. Blight, you can get nothing. With the exception of an annuity to be paid out of the income to Peters during her lifetime, the remainder of the property is absolutely Miss Bird’s--or Miss Wroat’s, as it was the wish of our deceased friend that the young lady should be called.”