It was the master of Millbank who spoke, and Hester turned upon him fiercely. “For the Lord’s sake, how long since you took such airs? I shall speak of that woman how and where I choose, and you can’t help yourself.” By this it will be seen that Hester was not in the softest of moods as she made her way to the library, but her feelings changed the moment she stood in the room where Roger was. She had expected to find him hot, excited, defiant, and ready, like herself, to battle with those who would take his birthright from him. She was not prepared for the crushed, white-faced man who looked up at her so helplessly as she came in, and tried to force a smile as he pointed to a chair at his side, and said,— “Sit here by me, Hester. It is you and I now. You and I alone.” His chin quivered a little as he held the chair for her to sit down, and then kept his hand on her shoulder as if he felt better stronger so. He knew he had her sympathy, that every pulsation of her heart beat for him, that she would cling to him through weal and woe, and he felt a kind of security in having her there beside him. Hester saw the yellow, soiled paper spread out before him, and recognized it at a glance. Then she looked across the table toward the proud woman who sat toying with her rings, and exulting at the downfall of poor Roger. At her Hester glowered savagely, and was met by a derisive smile, which told how utterly indifferent the lady was to her and her opinion. Then Hester’s glance came back, and rested pityingly on her boy, whose finger now was on the will, and who said to her,— “Hester, there _was_ another will, as Helen thought. It is here before me. It was found under the garret floor. Do you know who put it there?” He was very calm, as if asking an ordinary question, and his manner went far toward reassuring Hester, who, by this time, had made up her mind to tell the truth, and brave the consequences. “Yes,” she replied. “I put it there myself, the day your father died.” “I told you so,” dropped from Mrs. Walter Scott’s lips; but Hester paid no heed to her. She was looking at Roger, fascinated by the expression of his eyes and face as he went on to question her. “Why did you hide it, and where did you find it?” “It was lying on the table, where Aleck found him dead, spread out before him, as if he had been reading it over, as I know he had, and he meant to change it, too, for he’d asked young Schofield to come that night and fix it. Don’t you remember Schofield said so?” Roger nodded, and she continued: “And I know by another way that he meant to change it. ’Twas so writ in his letter to you.” “His letter to _me_, Hester? There was nothing like that in the letter,” Roger exclaimed; and Hester continued: