"Is that you, Hudsley?" Then Stephen, wiping his lips, answered in a dry voice utterly unlike his own, but very remarkably resembling that of the old solicitor, Hudsley: "Yes, squire, it's Hudsley." The dying man's hearing was faint, his senses wandering and dimmed; he caught the sense of the words, however, for with an effort he turned his head toward the curtains. "Where are you?" he asked, almost inaudibly; "I can't see you; my sight has gone. You have been a long while coming. Hudsley, you thought you--knew--everything about the man who lies here; you were wrong. There's a surprise for you as well as the rest. Did you see Jack?" Stephen had no need to reply: the old man rambled on without waiting, excepting to struggle for breath. "He is down-stairs. Poor boy! it's a pity he is such a fool. There was always one like him in the Newcombe family. But the other--Stephen--the man who has been hanging about me all this time, eager to lick my boots so that he might step into them when I was gone; he is a fool and a knave." Stephen's face went white and his lips twitched. It is probable that he remembered the adage: "Listeners hear no good of themselves." "He is the first of his kind we have had in the family. Plenty of fools and scamps, Hudsley, but no hypocrites till this one. Well, he'll get his deserts. I'd give a thousand pounds to come back and hear the will read, and see his face. He makes so sure of it, too, the oily eel!" Stephen writhed like an eel, indeed, and his lips blanched. Was the old man delirious, or had he, Stephen, really played the part of sycophant, toady and boot-licker all these years for nothing? Great drops of sweat rolled down his face, his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and his knees shook so that he had to steady himself by holding the curtain. "Yes, disappointed all. You don't understand. You think that you know everything. But no; I trusted you with a great deal, but not with all. How dark it is! Hudsley, you are an old man; don't finish up like--like this. Only one soul in the wide world is sorry that I'm going; and he's a fool. Poor Jack! I remember----" Then followed, half inaudibly, a string of names belonging to the companions of his youth. Most of them were dead and forgotten by him until this hour, when he was about to join their shades. "Ah, the old time! the old time. But--but--what was it I was saying? I--I--Hudsley--quick! for Heaven's sake! I--the key--the key----" Stephen came round, in his eagerness risking recognition. "The key?" he asked, so hoarsely that his voice might well be taken for an old man's. "What key?" "Feel--under my pillow!" gasped Ralph Davenant. Stephen thrust his trembling hand under the pillow, and, with a leap of the heart, felt a key. "The safe!" murmured a faltering voice. "The bottom drawer. Bring them to me! Quick!"