Grey had fully made up his mind as to the necessity for a will. Without a will there would in all likelihood be Chancery proceedings; and while no one in Daneford would dream of suspecting Grey, or ask details of the account, much less verification of the items, the Chancery folk will go through the whole affair as a matter of routine, and not as a matter of precaution, or because of any suspicion. Let there be a will, by all means. It was fine to drive through the bright sunlight of that glorious May weather, and feel that the gold was overtaking the lead. It was better than recovering from a long illness; it was coming back, to life and green fields and the voices of birds and the pressure of hands we love, out of the dark, damp, noisome tomb. When Mr. Grey arrived at Island Ferry he alighted, told the driver of the fly to wait for him, and took the boat to the Island. As soon as he arrived at the Castle he was shown into the dreary deserted banquet-room. Here he found irrepressible little Mrs. Grant waiting for him. After some time he gathered from her how matters stood, and sent up his name to the sick man. Sir Alexander would see Mr. Grey. When the banker reached the room where the baronet lay, he was greatly shocked at the change which had taken place in the latter since the last time they had met, although that was only a few days ago. There had always been a bright bloom, the bloom of old age heightened and deepened by the malady which afflicted him chronically, on the old man's face. Now the cheeks were puffed and purple, and the eyes, once so keen and cold, were dull and restless and impatient. The long thin sinewy hands lay outside the counterpane, and the voice of the sufferer when he spoke was tremulous, querulous, making a painful contrast to the firm, clear, thin, biting speech of other days. After the usual greetings and Grey's expression of sorrow for his indisposition, the old man spoke quickly, and in an unsteady voice. "These doctors have been worrying me to-day, Grey, and I am very glad you have come. I want to talk to you. Pull that curtain a little across the window; I hate the sunlight. Thank you, Grey. Sit down now, where I can see you. It's a comfort to look at a man like you after those false prophets and hoarse ravens. The doctors have been with me, Grey; and they tell me I should make my will. Now I'm not talking to you as a medical man, but as a man of business. What do you say?" "Have you spoken to Mr. Shaw about the matter?" asked the banker softly. "No; I have not spoken to Shaw about it. I hate lawyers," cried the old man pettishly. "If I hated lawyers," returned Grey, with a shy smile, "I should not be without a will for four-and-twenty hours." "Why?" demanded the old man, with a contraction of the brows and a glance of suspicion directed at an imaginary group of lawyers.