"Canon Lenthall is here, Sir Luke, and would be glad to know if you can see him?" "Eh? Yes, certainly. Show him up here. The very thing," he added to himself. "I'll take Dick's opinion about it. Ah, there he is. Come in, Canon. Real glad to see you, especially just now." "Nothing wrong, Canterby?" said the other, as the two men shook hands cordially. "Don't know about wrong, Dick. But I'm in a puzzle over something, and you always had a sound judgment. Sit down." The Very Reverend Richard Lenthall was one of the canons attached to the Roman Catholic Cathedral in the adjacent town of Passmore; and the difference in their creeds notwithstanding, for Sir Luke did not profess the ancient faith, the two men had been fast friends for nearly a lifetime. In aspect and manner they were totally dissimilar. The priest was a broad, thick-set man of medium height, with a strong but jovial face, square-jawed and surmounted by a fine forehead, and illuminated by a pair of fine dark eyes, wonderfully searching, as they gazed forth from beneath bushy brows. He had a brisk, hearty, genial manner, differing entirely from the somewhat reposeful and dignified one of his friend. But mentally, both had many points in common--notably a keen sense of humour--and a delight in studying the contrasts and ironies of the satirical side of life. "What's the puzzle?" he now said, dropping into a chair. "I'll tell you. Oh, by the way, let me ring for a glass of wine for you after your walk." "No, thanks. I'll wait till lunch. I'm going to stop and lunch with you, but I'll have to get away directly after." "As to that you know your own business best. Look here, old friend, advise me. Do you know what this confounded document is?" holding it up. "Um. It might be a lease, or a deed of partnership--or of sale." "No. Try again." "Or your will." "You've struck it. That's just what it is. The draft of my will. And--I want you to read it." "Why?" "Because I want your opinion, man--doesn't it stand to reason?" "See here, Luke," said the other, and there was a twinkle in his eye. "Aren't you afraid of the much-abused priest who is supposed to be always poking his nose into other people's business and interfering in family matters? You know." "I only know that you are talking bosh when you ought to be serious, Dick. Do run through that paper and make any remarks on it you like." "Well, if you really wish it," said the Canon, serious enough now, as he got out his glasses, and began to peruse attentively the masses of legal jargon which covered up the testator's designs. He had not got far, however, before he came upon that which perturbed him not a little, but of such his trained impassive countenance betrayed no sign. Sir Luke sat looking out of the window, watching the thrushes hopping about the lawn. "Well?" he said at last, but not extending a hand to receive the document which the other was holding out to him.