"You know, Sir Alexander, lawyers have a special prayer, asking for the management of intestate estates." He raised his eyebrows and smiled archly at the prostrate man. "I don't understand you, Grey. These doctors, with their fears and their jargon, have confused me. What do you mean?" For a moment the banker looked at the baronet uneasily. Could it be that already his mind was becoming clouded or torpid? After a moment's observation and thought, Grey decided that the old man was only dazed and tired. "What I mean, Sir Alexander, is, that in cases where there is no will, the law-costs often consume the whole estate, and _always_ eat up enormously more money than where there is a sound will." The old man reflected awhile. "Have you made your own will?" he asked. "Certainly. I could not rest if I thought what little fortune I may have should, instead of going to my wife, be scattered about in this and that court, in this and that litigation. As I go home the ferry-boat may overturn and I may be drowned, the horse may run away and I may be killed. Making a will has with me no connection with good or bad health. It is a business thing which ought, on the principle of economy, to be done in time. In nothing more than in making a will is it true that a stitch in time saves nine?" There was a long pause. "Grey!" "Yes, Sir Alexander." "You helped me to put this fortune together for my daughter." A bow of deprecation. "You have been ten years now taking care of it for her." "Yes, Sir Alexander." What was coming now? Could all this be a _ruse_? Was this serene interview to end in a storm of intolerable ruin? Had this old man been leading up with deceiving equanimity to some prodigious burst, some unendurable tempest of reproach? "Will you go still farther?" "In what way?" "Will you act as one of the executors, the chief--no, as the sole, as sole trustee and guardian?" "What! Sir Alexander, Sir Alexander, are you--are you trifling with me? If you are, give it up. I cannot, I will not, be trifled with." His face shrivelled up, and he covered it in his hands. For that brief space he thought all had been discovered. "What I say I mean. Why should I trifle with you? If I am to die or be killed, let me die with the knowledge that the fortune of my child will be as safe when I am dead as it is now. Will you do this, Grey, for me?" "I will." "Then you may tell Shaw to come. Go to him at once. I wish to make my will." CHAPTER VIII. WAT GREY'S ROMANCE DIES OUT. Mr. Grey's drive to Castle Ferry had been an excursion to meet victory; his return to Daneford was a triumphant progress.