“Ah! that she will,” cried Ford, with energy. There was much more meaning in the tone than in the words; and the inference was not agreeable to old Trevor, who retired within himself, and sat for the rest of the afternoon with a very serious face ruminating how to invent safeguards for the will, which, however, he would not sign, as Ford suggested. “There’s something more I want to put in,” the old man said pettishly. “I’ll try to wind it all up to-morrow.” But as a matter of fact, he did not want to wind it all up, or conclude the document. When he did so, his occupation would be gone. It would be the conclusion of all things. With a natural shrinking he thrust this last action from him, notwithstanding the composure with which he had long regarded his own death as something necessary to the fulfillment of his intentions. But he did not feel disposed to put his final seal to it, and dismiss himself out of the world with a stroke of his pen. To-morrow was soon enough. When Lucy returned from school, she found him shivering by the fire. It was a cold day, but he was chilled by more than the weather; chilled in his vivacious spirit, which had done more to keep him warm than his good fire or warmly lined dressing gown. “No, I am not ill,” he said, in answer to her inquiries, “not at all poorly, only low, Lucy. If you and the rest should throw me overboard after I am gone; if it should turn out that I have taken all this trouble for nothing--thinking of you night and day, and planning for your good and your happiness--if it should be all for nothing, Lucy?” “But how could that be,” said Lucy, with her usual calm, “when you have been so particular--when you have written it all down?” “Yes, I have written it all down,” he said, “and it can’t come to nothing, if you will be a good girl, and take care that all your old father’s wishes are carried out.” “Papa, I promise you, all you have arranged about me, and all your wishes for me, shall be carried out,” said Lucy, with a very slight emphasis upon the pronoun, which indicated a mental reservation, but her father did not notice this. His voice, already enfeebled, took a coaxing, beseeching tone. “I’ll not fear anything, I’ll try not to fear anything, if you’ll give me your promise. Give me your promise, Lucy,” he said, and Lucy repeated with more effusion, when she saw the feverish uneasiness in which he was, the promise she had already made.