“I do mean to say so,” said the baronet, “and I am sure of the fact; and the villany of this man Price consists in this, that knowing he is to be residuary-legatee, he keeps or has kept Mr. Martindale in the dark as to the real value of his property.” “Well,” replied Markham, “it cannot now be helped. But it was a pity that you did not endeavour to undeceive Mr. Martindale.” “Endeavour to undeceive him? Why, my good sir, how do you think that was possible! You surely were sufficiently acquainted with our worthy friend to know that he would never be convinced against his will.” Markham smiled, and acknowledged the truth of this remark. But the consideration now was, what steps should be taken to ascertain the real state of Mr. Martindale, and what farther communication should be made to Signora Rivolta, and who should be the bearer of the intelligence. Sir Andrew Featherstone, by paying great compliments to Markham’s superior understanding, attempted to throw the burden on his shoulders; but the young barrister, though no more adverse to flattery than any one else, did not think a compliment from the lips of Sir Andrew quite sufficient recompense for the trouble of an unpleasant embassy, and therefore gave it up to him on whom it devolved with greater right and propriety. Poor Sir Andrew was grievously annoyed by his commission, but he felt himself bound to undertake it. With slow and reluctant steps the worthy baronet proceeded from Markham’s chambers to the town-house of Mr. Martindale; and though he was a man of as much humanity as ninety-nine in a hundred, he was not very sorry when the servant who opened the door informed him that Signora Rivolta could not be seen; for intelligence had been just received from Brigland of the death of Mr. Martindale.