he would not have had the same faith in her, not the same feeling about her position. It would have been more a matter of course, not so interesting to the fancy. Perhaps a girl, in all cases, answers the purpose of an ideal better than a boy does. Old Trevor did not think much about the question of sex, but instinctively felt that the girl was what he wanted, and it would be impossible to conceive an exercise of the imagination more exciting, more interesting. It was as near like creating a human being as anything could be. Of the character of Lucy--in the flesh, a slim and quiet girl of sixteen--her father knew not very much; but the Lucy who, day by day, developed more and more in the will, became a personage very distinct to him. The manner in which she was to conduct herself in all the difficulties she might meet, was the subject of his continual thoughts; until at last it seemed to the old man that he saw her as in a mirror moving along through the difficulties and perplexities of her life in which his own position would enable him to accompany her and help her with his advice--rather than that he was actually inventing the entire course of her experience for her. This was the subject upon which Ford was Mr. Trevor’s confidant. He could not have lived all alone in this imaginary world; he had to consult some one, to tell some one of all the developments of his imagination as he traced his heiress through her life. And Ford, you may be sure, liked to know every particular, and was pleased to have a hand in the guidance of so rich a person, and to help to decide how so much money was to be spent. It made him feel as if he were rich himself. He made a very judicious confidant. He agreed in all Mr. Trevor’s ideas in the greater matters, and differed in trifles just enough to show the independence of his judgment; and, as it happened, there was something particularly interesting to Ford in the chapter of Lucy’s future life at which they had now arrived. CHAPTER III. THE WILL. “I think I have got it now, Ford, I think I have got it now,” the old man said, rubbing his hands. “But it has given me a great deal of trouble. Get yourself a chair, and sit down. I want you to hear how I’ve put it. I think, though I don’t want to be conceited, that this time I have hit upon the very thing. Sit down, Ford, and give me your advice.”