"Take care of yourself, then, should you be brought into contact with her," laughed Sir Edmund. "She is a Jezebel. All the same, she is one of the most fascinating of women: irresistibly so, no doubt, to many people. Had she been any but my uncle's wife--widow--I don't know how it might have gone with me. By the way, Mr. Strange, did Mr. Brightman impart to you Sir Ralph's reason for devising his property to me? He had always said, you know, that he would not do it. Mr. Brightman would not tell me the reason for the change." "No, he did not. Sir Ralph intended, I believe, to bequeath most of it to his wife, and altered his mind quite suddenly. So much Mr. Brightman told me." "Found out Jezebel, perhaps, at some trick or other." That I thought all too likely; but did not say so. Sir Edmund continued to speak a little longer upon business matters, and then rose. "The will had better be proved without delay," he paused to say. "I will see about it the first thing next week, Sir Edmund. It would have been done this week but for Mr. Brightman's unexpected death." "Why do you sink your voice to a whisper?" asked Sir Edmund, as we were quitting the room. "Do you fear eavesdroppers?" I was not conscious that I had sunk it, until recalled to the fact. "Every time I approach this door," I said, pointing to the one opening into the other room, "I feel as if I were in the presence of the dead. He is still lying there." "What--Mr. Brightman?" "It is where he died. He will be removed to his late residence to-night." "I think I will see him," cried Sir Edmund, laying his hand on the door. "As you please. I would not advise you." And he apparently thought better of it, and went down. I had to attend the Vice-Chancellor's Court; law business goes on without respect to the dead. Upon my return in the afternoon, I was in the front office, speaking to Lennard, when a carriage drove down the street, and stopped at the door. Our blinds were down, but one of the clerks peeped out. "A gentleman's chariot, painted black," he announced: "the servants in deep mourning." Allen went out and brought back a card. "The lady wishes to see you, sir." I cast my eyes on it--"Lady Clavering." And an involuntary smile crossed my face, at the remembrance of Sir Edmund's caution, should I ever be brought into contact with her. But what could Lady Clavering want with me?