“Oh, I have heard of a great many such things,” said St. Clair, and he gave a little sketch--which, indeed, was interesting--of careful testaments set aside by the law, or made null by some trifling omission, or solemnly ignored by the very heirs they appointed. It was a cruel joke. Poor old Trevor did not get over it for a long time. He sat and thought of it all the rest of the day. Who was to interfere? who was to make sure that anybody would do as he had ordained--would take upon them the trouble of superintending all Lucy’s actions, and following out his code? He had Ford up when St. Clair left, and talked to him long on the subject, not betraying his fears, by cunningly endeavoring to pledge him, over and over, to the carrying out of his views. “You would not see my will neglected after I’m gone? If the others should be careless, or refuse the trouble, you’d always see justice done, Ford? I am sure I can trust in you whatever happens,” the old man said. “The best thing to do is to get the will signed and sealed and delivered,” said Ford; “that is the first way of making it sure. So long as you are adding a little bit every day, you can never be certain. Yes, yes, you may trust in me, Mr. Trevor. I would never dare to go against a dead person’s will. I’d expect to be haunted every night of my life. You may trust in me; but I can’t answer for others. I have charge of half of the time, no more. I can’t answer for others-- Lady Randolph will pay little attention to me.” “Lady Randolph will pay attention to her own interests,” said the old man.