The weather, which had all day been lowering and hazy, about this time became drizzly, and the wind rose, insomuch that Leddy Grippy, who came flying to the summons, before reaching home was drenched to the skin, and was for some time, both from her agitation and fatigue, incapable of taking any part in the bustle around her husband. Walter, who had made the utmost speed for Mr. Keelevin, returned soon after his mother; and, on appearing before his father, the old man eagerly spoke to him; but his voice was so thick, that few of his words were intelligible. It was, however, evident that he inquired for the lawyer; for he threw his eyes constantly towards the door, and several times again was able to articulate his name. At last, Mr. Keelevin arrived on horseback, and came into the room, dressed in his trotcosey; the hood of which, over his cocked hat, was drawn so closely on his face, that but the tip of his sharp aquiline nose was visible. But, forgetful or regardless of his appearance, he stalked with long strides at once to the chair where Claud was sitting; and taking from under the skirt of the trotcosey a bond of provision for the widow and children of Charles, and for Mrs. Milrookit, he knelt down, and began to read it aloud. ‘Sir,’ said the doctor, who was standing at the other side of the patient, ‘Mr. Walkinshaw is in no condition to understand you.’ Still, however, Mr. Keelevin read on; and when he had finished, he called for pen and ink. ‘It is impossible that he can write,’ said the doctor. ‘Ye hae no business to mak ony sic observation,’ exclaimed the benevolent lawyer. ‘Ye shou’d say nothing till we try. In the name of justice and mercy, is there nobody in this house that will fetch me pen and ink?’ It was evident to all present that Claud perfectly understood what his friend said; and his eyes betokened eagerness and satisfaction; but the expression with which his features accompanied the assent in his look was horrible and appalling. At this juncture Leddy Grippy came rushing, half dressed, into the room, her dishevelled grey hair flying loosely over her shoulders, exclaiming,-- ‘What’s wrang noo?--what new judgement has befallen us?--Whatna fearfu’ image is that like a corpse out o’ a tomb, that’s making a’ this rippet for the cheatrie instruments o’ pen and ink, when a dying man is at his last gasp?’ ‘Mrs. Walkinshaw, for Heaven’s sake be quiet;--your gudeman,’ replied Mr. Keelevin, opening the hood of his trotcosey, and throwing it back; taking off, at the same time, his cocked hat--‘Your gudeman kens very weel what I hae read to him. It’s a provision for Mrs. Charles and her orphans.’ ‘But is there no likewise a provision in’t for me?’ cried the Leddy. ‘Oh, Mrs. Walkinshaw, we’ll speak o’ that hereafter; but let us get this executed aff-hand,’ replied Mr. Keelevin. ‘Ye see your gudeman kens what we’re saying, and looks wistfully to get it done. I say, in the name of God, get me pen and ink.’