‘In a wee while, Mr. Beattie. I’ll drink your very good health in the first place. I look upon that as a duty. Good-night, sir; good-night. You’re a gentleman, sir. And, look here, I’ll be at old Hatchett’s as usual to-morrow, and you’ll say nothing about seeing me here? It’s a low place, Mr. Beattie; I’m quite aware of that--a place I very seldom come to.’ ‘Certainly not. It is not my business to carry tales.’ ‘And, I say, how did you know I was here?’ asked MacGowan suddenly. ‘Oh, I thought it likely.’ ‘And about that will----’ began MacGowan; and he stopped, trying to recollect what the other had said about it. ‘Oh, never mind; it’s all right. I’m afraid I must be off now,’ said Beattie. ‘All right. Then, good-night, Mr. Beattie, good-night.’ And so the managing clerk made his escape, while poor MacGowan returned to the room from which he had been summoned. CHAPTER XXIV. THE SIGNING OF THE WILL. ‘I have more right to be here, sir, than a stranger.’ These were the words, uttered by James Semple in a voice of suppressed indignation, which Alec Lindsay heard as he entered his uncle’s bedroom next day. He had come to superintend the execution of Mr. Lindsay’s will, bringing the document with him ready for signature. The old man was sitting up in bed, a table with writing materials beside him. Near the fireplace stood Dr. Mackenzie, a look of firm resolve on his face. At the foot of the bed stood Semple, who seemed to be bitterly protesting against being excluded from the room. ‘Just consider, uncle!’ he continued; ‘I have served you for the last ten years, and served you faithfully. What have I done, to be treated like a stranger now? Alec is to make your will; I don’t complain of that. Don’t think for a moment I am jealous of him. But why am I to be thrust out, while one who is no member of the family is admitted?’ The old man glanced helplessly at Dr. Mackenzie as if asking for advice. But the minister held his peace. ‘I think you might let my cousin stay, uncle,’ said Alec. ‘It is perhaps only fair that he should know your intentions.’ ‘Ay; so let it be,’ said Mr. Lindsay, in a feeble tone. ‘The whole world will know soon enough. But don’t blame me, lads, after I am gone, I did it for the best. God knows, I did it for the best.’ And Semple, having received permission to stay in the room, walked over to the window. ‘We must get two witnesses,’ said Alec, drawing the will from its envelope. ‘Marks and the cook will do.’ ‘The will had better be read first,’ put in Dr. Mackenzie. ‘There’s no need for the servants knowing its contents.’ ‘True,’ said Mr. Lindsay; and Alec, standing at the old man’s bedside, began to read in a clear firm tone. He had nearly finished his task, when he noticed that Semple (who was still standing by the window) was pulling down the blind. ‘Don’t do that, James; I have hardly light enough as it is,’ said Alec.