They sat there silent for several minutes. Raven was keeping desperate clutch on the inner self lashed by his hurrying heart, and telling it there was no danger of his saying any of the things it was hounding him on to say. He wanted to break out with an untempered violence: "Of course you've found it. And of course she's left a lot of it to me." He did not really believe that: only it so linked up with the chain of her unceasing benevolences toward him that it seemed the only thing to complete them adequately. And Nan, as if his premonition had prompted her, too, was saying, after the minute she had left him to get his pace even with hers, as if to assure him that, although she knew so much more than he, she wouldn't hurry ahead: "Rookie, dear, she's left it all to you." Raven felt himself tighten up, every nerve and sinew of him, to do something before it should be too late. He bent forward to her and said, a sharp query: "Who found it?" "Why," said Nan, smiling as if she couldn't ask anything better, "I found it, in a perfectly innocent looking envelope with some old deeds and mortgages." "You haven't got it here, have you?" he pelted on. "You didn't bring it with you?" His eyes interrogated her with his voice, and she shook her head, wondering at him. "Nothing to you?" he asked sharply. "I'm the sole legatee?" "Oh, I have the house, of course," said Nan, "the one here and the place at Wake Hill. She had those only for her lifetime, you know. Yes, you're the sole legatee." "You haven't told anybody, have you?" he asked, in a despairing haste, as if he were seeking about for ways to suppress the document. She broke into an amused giggle, the note he sometimes fancied she kept for him alone. "Why, yes," she said, "of course I have. I telephoned Mr. Whitney, and he was in a great state over it. He came round, and I gave it to him." "A lawyer!" said Raven, in disgust. "A damned accurate, precedent-preaching lawyer! Well, the fat's in the fire now. What did you have to be so confounded previous for?" Nan was smiling at him as if she found herself wiser than he. "You didn't think you could tear it up, did you, Rookie?" she inquired. "You can't, you know, except in stories." "I don't know what I thought," he said. "Only I wish it hadn't been done, that's all. It's a"--he ended blankly--"a mistake." She was looking at him now in a warm, sweet way, to tell him she understood and thanked him. "You're afraid I sha'n't have enough," she said. "I shall. I'd ever so much rather you had it, Rookie." "It isn't a question," said Raven curtly, in his disaffection, "of how much you're worth. It's simply yours, that's all, and you've got to have it. Well, I can refuse it, I suppose. Only that's so boorish. It drags everybody out into the open. What made her! Oh, what made her!"