'He said the crisis would come on Monday, and when it did Edward would be dead all in a minute. He said it would be just like taking prussic acid.' 'Not earlier than Monday?' 'He said he thought Monday.' 'Of course I shall take no notice of what Edward said to me--I shall call to-morrow morning--and stay. Perhaps he won't mind seeing me. And then you can tell me what happens to-night.' 'I'm sure I shall send that lawyer man about his business,' she threatened. 'Look here,' said Mark timorously as he was leaving the house, 'I've told you I don't want the money--I would give it away to some charity; but do you think I ought to pretend to yield, just to humour him, and let him die quiet and peaceful? I shouldn't like him to die hating----' 'Never--never!' she exclaimed. * * * * * 'What have you and Mark been talking about?' asked Edward Beechinor apprehensively as Mary re-entered the bedroom. 'Nothing,' she replied with a grave and soothing kindliness of tone. 'Because, miss, if you think----' 'You must have your medicine now, Edward.' But before giving the patient his medicine she peeped through the curtain and watched Mark's figure till it disappeared up the hill towards Bleakridge. He, on his part, walked with her image always in front of him. He thought hers was the strongest, most righteous soul he had ever encountered; it seemed as if she had a perfect passion for truth and justice. And a week ago he had deemed her a capable girl, certainly--but lackadaisical! * * * * * The clock had struck ten before Mr. Baines, the solicitor, knocked at the door. Mary hesitated, and then took him upstairs in silence while he suavely explained to her why he had been unable to come earlier. This lawyer was a young Scotsman who had descended upon the town from nowhere, bought a small decayed practice, and within two years had transformed it into a large and flourishing business by one of those feats of energy, audacity, and tact, combined, of which some Scotsmen seem to possess the secret. 'Here is Mr. Baines, Edward,' Mary said quietly; and then, having rearranged the sick man's pillow, she vanished out of the room and went into the kitchen. The gas-jet there showed only a point of blue, but she did not turn it up. Dragging an old oak rush-seated rocking-chair near to the range, where a scrap of fire still glowed, she rocked herself gently in the darkness. After about half an hour Mr. Baines's voice sounded at the head of the stairs: 'Miss Beechinor, will ye kindly step up? We shall want some asseestance.' She obeyed, but not instantly. In the bedroom Mr. Baines, a fountain-pen between his fine white teeth, was putting some coal on the fire. He stood up as she entered. 'Mr. Beechinor is about to make a new will,' he said, without removing the pen from his mouth, 'and ye will kindly witness it.'