When she did wake, she lay for some time in a half-dreamy state, enjoying the softness of her bed and the luxurious prettiness of her room, so different from the one she had so long inhabited. She found a real pleasure in the pretty carpet, the easy chair with its bright chintz, the Indian paper on the walls covered with processions of camels and elephants, with wonderful birds and beasts, and men still more wonderful. Presently her eyes fell upon the old army cloak carelessly thrown over a chair, and like a flash came to her mind the words of Cassius— "He had it on when he was struck with death!" She sprang out of bed, seized the coat, and felt in all the pockets. There was nothing in any of them, but as she turned them out, she found in the inside breast pocket a long rip. She put in her hand and pulled out a folded paper carefully wrapped round with red tape, but not sealed. She gave one glance at it, and another out of the window. Mr. Settson's house was open, and so was the office. Clearly the family were at home. She waited no longer than to dress herself, and then, without seeing or thinking of any one, she put on her hat, and, with the paper in her hand, ran across to the office. There was no one in the outer room. She knocked at the door of the inner office, and then, without waiting for a reply, she opened it and went in. There sat Mr. Settson and Mr. Fabian, with an elderly man whom she had never seen before. "Calista!" exclaimed both the gentlemen in surprise. And Mr. Fabian's voice had a shade of displeasure as he added,— "My dear, what has brought you here?" "This!" answered Calista, holding up her prize. "Mr. Settson, will you please tell me what I have found?" Mr. Settson set down his snuff-box, and glancing at the outside of the document, he opened it with eager haste. He looked it through, glanced at the end, and then struck his hand on the table with a force which made the ink jump out of the inkstand and the snuff out of the box, and caused the office cat to utter a remonstrating mew. "The very thing!" said he. "We have it at last. Fabian, Williams, look here!" They both rose and looked over his shoulder with eager curiosity. "That is it, Mr. Settson," said the elderly man, whom Mr. Settson called Williams; "that is the signature I witnessed, and the other signature is that of young Mr. John Blair, at that time studying in our office. I have heard he was living somewhere west—in Detroit, I believe. That is Mr. Durant's handwriting. The old gentleman gave him instructions how to draw the will, and he came in next day and signed it. I heard it read over to him myself." "But what in the world possessed him to go to a lawyer who was an entire stranger, and in an obscure place like that?" "I think it was because he was not very well. I remember he said something about his heart troubling him." [Illustration: _Old Stanfield House._ "This!" answered Calista, holding up her prize.]