‘Ah!’ said Beattie to himself, as he glanced at the note, ‘this will decide our friend Lindsay’s future. I wonder whether Semple will come in for a good share. Surely, if he does, he won’t trouble me about that six hundred I owe him?’ About four o’clock Beattie presented himself at Mr. Lindsay’s house, and was at once shown up to the sick man’s chamber. ‘Are you Mr. Hatchett, or Mr. Small?’ was Mr. Lindsay’s first question. ‘Neither. My name is Beattie. I am the managing clerk of the conveyancing department. It was quite impossible for one of the partners to come to-day; and as you seemed to wish your will made at once----’ ‘Oh, very well, sit down,’ interrupted the old man. He was by no means pleased that a clerk had been sent to him; but it was not worth while to dispute the point. Beattie found writing materials on a side-table, and seated himself at the bedside, with his pen in his hand. ‘First of all, sir,’ he began, ‘I shall want your full name and address. By the way, you have lived here for some months, I believe?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And you have no intention of returning to Scotland?’ ‘No,’ said the old man grimly. ‘I mean, if you recover?’ ‘Not permanently.’ ‘Have you any will now existing?’ ‘No.’ For some minutes there was silence, and then Mr. Lindsay named the two friends whom he wished to be his trustees and executors. Then there was a longer pause. At last the sick man broke the silence, speaking rapidly, as if he feared that even then he might change his mind. ‘Sell my houses, and all that’s in them--nobody will care for them after I am gone. Sell the oil-works at Drumleck, and the business. They have been mismanaged sadly of late; besides, the trade is not what it was, and I doubt if there’s much more to be made in it,’ he added, as if speaking to himself. ‘Then my brother, Alexander Lindsay, of the Castle Farm, Muirburn, must have ten thousand pounds. And my second cousin, Jean Lindsay, who has been my housekeeper for many years, ten thousand. Have you put that down?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘To my niece, Margaret Lindsay, three thousand, and to my ward, Laura Mowbray, say two thousand. I pity that lassie’s husband,’ he added, under his breath. Again there was a long pause, so long that Beattie dried his writing, and looked up as if to ask whether the instructions were ended. ‘And I bequeath,’ said the old man in a firm voice, ‘to all those who have been Moderators of the General Assembly of the Free Church of Scotland, to the present Moderator, and to every succeeding Moderator, the sum of five hundred thousand pounds, in trust for the Free Church of Scotland, to be used, at their discretion, for the general purposes of that body.’ Mr. Lindsay glanced at the lawyer as he pronounced these words, that he might see what effect the magnitude of the bequest had upon him; but, to the old man’s disappointment, Mr. Beattie’s face remained perfectly impassive. ‘For the general purposes of that body,’ he repeated, writing down the words.