"About, sir," said the old lawyer gravely. Then, after sitting attent, as if expecting another question, he coughed again, and went on. "I give and bequeath to my son, Clive Reed, the whole of my interest in the `White Virgin' mine, together with everything of which I die possessed in shares, bank-stocks, freehold and leasehold property, begging him that he will act in his possession thereof as a true and just man, and the steward of a large estate committed to his charge. I do this believing that he will carry out my wishes in connection with the said property for his own benefit, as well as for that of many friends who have embarked their money in my last enterprise, the aforesaid `White Virgin' mine." The lawyer read the few remaining words connected with the signature amidst a murmur of congratulations, in the midst of which Jessop started up, black with fury and disappointment. "Shame!" he cried. "I protest!" and a dead silence fell. "May I ask why, sir?" said the lawyer coldly. "My deceased friend has done more than his duty by you." "Your words are uncalled-for and insolent, sir," cried Jessop. "Recollect that you are only a paid professional man." "And Grantham Reed's trusted confidential friend, sir. Dr Praed and I were the two men to whom he opened his heart--eh, Doctor?" "Yes, in all things." "I was not speaking about my own beggarly, tied-up legacy," cried Jessop, who was now deadly pale, "but of the cruel, disgraceful way in which my father has behaved to a young lady whom he professed to love as a daughter, and led to expect that she would stand high in his will." Janet's hands were extended deprecatingly toward the speaker, and Clive half rose in his chair, but sank back as the lawyer said coldly-- "Perhaps Mr Jessop Reed will listen to the codicil before he adds to a long list of injuries by casting aspersions upon the generosity of my dear dead friend." "What! is there a codicil?" cried Jessop. The lawyer bowed his head. "Then why have you kept it back, sir?" "Because it comes last," said the lawyer, with a faint smile, "and also because I have had no opportunity to read it on account of interruptions." A dead silence fell once more, and Clive darted a glance across to Janet, whose eyes, as far as he could see, appeared to be directed at his brother. "The codicil," began the lawyer, "is dated six months before our lamented friend's death." He paused, and then read on, after the customary preliminaries-- "I give and bequeath to Janet Praed, daughter of my old friend, Peter Praed, the sum of one hundred thousand pounds, standing in Bank of England and Government of India stock, free of legacy duty." "Hah!" cried Jessop, in a triumphant tone; and unable to contain himself, he rose and crossed to Janet to take her hands, which she resigned to him, while Clive felt as if he had received a thrust from a knife, as the old lawyer raised his head and gazed curiously at the group before him.