Then some of my cousins arrived and sat down. We waited a few minutes in silence, until the arrival of my uncle the Alderman with his wife and daughters. The ladies stared at me without any kind of salutation. The Alderman shook his head. 'Nephew,' he said, 'I am sorry to see you here. I fear you will go away with a sorrowful heart--' 'I am sorrowful already, because my father was not reconciled to me. I shall not be any the more sorrowful to find that I have nothing. It is what I expect. Now, sir, you may read my father's will as soon as you please.' In spite of my brave words I confess that, for Alice's sake, I did hope that something would be left me. Then all took chairs and sat down with a cough of expectation. There was no more wailing from the ladies. Mr. Probus took up from the table a parchment tied with red tape and sealed. He solemnly opened it. 'This,' he said, 'is the last will and testament of Peter Halliday, Knight, and Alderman, late Lord Mayor, Citizen and Lorimer.' My uncle interposed. 'One moment, sir.' Then he turned to me. 'Repentance, nephew, though too late to change a parent's testamentary dispositions, may be quickened by the consequences of a parent's resentment. It may therefore be the means of leading to the forgiveness--ahem--and the remission--ahem--of more painful consequences--ahem--at the hands of Providence.' I inclined my head. 'Now, sir, once more.' 'This will was made four years ago when the late Mr. Littleton was the deceased gentleman's attorney. It was opened three months ago in order to add a trifling codicil, which was entrusted to my care. I will now read the will.' There is no such cumbrous and verbose document in the world as the will of a wealthy man. It was read by Mr. Probus in a harsh voice without stops in a sing-song, monotonous delivery, which composed the senses and made one feel as if all the words in the Dictionary were being read aloud. At last he finished. 'Perhaps,' I said, 'someone will tell me in plain English what it means?' 'Plain English, Sir? Let me tell you,' Mr. Probus replied, 'that there is no plainer English in the world than that employed by lawyers.' I turned to my uncle. 'Will you, Sir, have the goodness to explain to me?' 'I cannot recite the whole. As for the main points--Mr. Probus will correct me if I am wrong--my lamented brother leaves bequests to found an almshouse for eight poor men and eight poor widows, to bear his name; he also founds at his Parish Church an annual Lecture, to bear his name: he establishes a New Year's dole, to bear his name, of coals and bread, for twenty widows of the Parish. He has founded a school, for twelve poor boys, to bear his name. He has ordered his executors to effect the release of thirty poor prisoners for debt, in his name. Is there more, Mr. Probus?' 'He also founds a scholarship for a poor and deserving lad, to assist him at Cambridge. The same scholarship to bear his name and to be in the gift of his Company.'