Her eyes burned me as I walked cautiously into the other room. It was one I had not seen, but Mrs. Drainger was seated, as before, in the obscurest corner, a blur of white in which her pale hands looked like pallid lumps of flame. I faced my invisible client. "I have come about the will," I began, and was immediately conscious of Miss Emily's voracious interest. The opening was, as I recognized too late, scarcely diplomatic. "Will?" said the daughter in a harsh voice. "You are making a will? You--you----" She looked enormously tall and unpleasant as she spoke. "Yes, my dear," responded Mrs. Drainger dryly. "You? _You_?" continued the daughter rapidly. "After all these years? It is incredible. It is incredible." She laughed unpleasantly with closed eyes. Then, conscious that she was betraying emotions not meant for me, she turned to my chair. "You will understand that the information is something of a shock for a daughter. My mother's condition----" "Mrs. Drainger," I ventured to interrupt, "wishes merely to make certain changes in an instrument already drawn up." I was conscious of a stir, whether of gratitude or of resentment, from the darkened corner. Emily seemed momentarily bewildered. "You frightened me," she said at length with a frankness palpably false. "I quite understand," I retorted, the sham being, I thought, tolerably obvious. "And now if your mother and I----" She took the hint. "I will leave you," she said. It was evident I had not won her gratitude. As the door closed behind her I heard a low sound from Mrs. Drainger. "I am afraid--afraid," she murmured weakly. I think forgetting my presence; and then, as if suddenly conscious of a slip: "Old women, Mr. Gillingham, have their fancies. Death seems at times uncomfortably close." I murmured some polite deprecation, but I was sure it was not death that frightened her. Drawing from my pocket her letter and the copy of the will I had prepared I explained as best I could why I had come. I was tolerably confused. I could not question her entire sanity, and as I did not wish in any way to hint at what I felt concerning Emily I soon involved myself in a veritable dust of legal pedantry. Finally I asked whether there were other children. Mrs. Drainger heard me out in ironic silence. "I have no others," she admitted at length, and added after a second, "Thank heaven!" "There remains only one other matter," I said. "The provisions of your will are such that unless she knows them in advance Miss Emily will almost inevitably forfeit the inheritance." "I am aware of that," said the voice, and the pale hands moved imperceptibly. "I am quite well aware of what I am doing, Mr. Gillingham, and I repeat, my daughter is not to ask impertinent questions." I bowed, somewhat ruffled. I added that it would be necessary to witness her signature in the usual manner. She seemed surprised to learn that two persons were necessary, and remained silent. "Call Emily," she directed.