any
pleasant reactions as possible--out of the day. Some people get their
sensations--or say they do--out of fussing about the poor. Forty years
ago I got them out of politics--or racing--or high play. For years past,
as you know, I have got them out of collecting works of art--and fighting
the other people in the world who want the same things that I do.
Perfectly legitimate in my belief! I make no apology whatever for my
existence. Well, now then, I begin to be old--don't interrupt me--I don't
like it, but I recognize the fact. I have various ailments. Doctors are
mostly fools; but I admit that in my case they may be right; though I
intend to live a good while yet in spite of them. Still--there it is--who
is to have this money--and these collections? Sooner than let any
rascally Chancellor of the Exchequer get at them, I would leave them to
Dixon. But I confess I think Dixon would be embarrassed to know what to
do with them. I don't think I possess a single relation that I don't
dislike. So now we come to the point. With your leave--and by your
leave--I propose to leave the money and the collections--to you!" The
young man--flushed and staring--half rose in his chair.

"To _me_? What can you possibly mean, sir?"

"Precisely what I say. On conditions, of course. It depends on yourself.
But you were brought into this house by a strange chance--you happen to
suit me--to interest me. 'Provvy' as Bentham would say, seems to point to
you. Here--in this drawer"--he brought his hand down strongly on the
writing table--"is a will which I wrote last night. It leaves the whole
of my property to you, subject to certain directions as to the works of
art--to a provision for old Dixon, and so on. You can't witness it, of
course, nor can Dixon; otherwise it might be signed to-night. But if we
come to an understanding to-night, I can sign it to-morrow morning and
get a couple of men from the farm to witness it. I think I can promise to
live so long!"

There was silence. With an uncertain, swaying movement Melrose returned
to his chair. The physical weakness betrayed by the action was strangely
belied, however, by his imperious aspect, as of an embodied Will. His
eyes never left Faversham, even while he rested heavily on the table
before him for support.

Suddenly, Faversham, who had been sitting pale and motionless, looked up.

"Mr. Melrose--have you no natural heirs?"

Melrose could not altogether disguise the shock of the ques