rned and bowed as the young widow entered. "I was on the point,
madam," said he, "of sending up to request your presence. With your
leave, I think it is time to read the deceased's will." He pulled out his
watch and glanced again, with meaning, towards the stranger.

He had lifted his voice purposely, and the stranger came forward at once
with the half of a pasty in one hand and his glass of sherry in the other.

"Certainly," agreed the stranger, with his mouth full of pasty. He nodded
familiarly to Mr. Jose, drained his glass, set it down, and wiped his damp
fingers on the lappels of his coat. His habits were not pretty, and his
manners scarcely ingratiating. The foxy look in his eyes would have
spoilt a pleasanter face, and his person left an impression that it had,
at some time in the past and to save the expense of washing, been coated
with oil and then profusely dusted over with snuff. "Shall we begin?" he
asked, drawing a parcel of papers from his breast-pocket.

Roger Stephen glared at him, somewhat as a bull-dog might eye a
shrew-mouse. "Who is this?" he demanded.

"This is Mr. Alfonso Trudgian, my lawyer from Penzance," explained the
widow, and felt her voice shaking.

"Then he's not wanted."

"But excuse me, Mr. Stephen, this lady's interests--," began Mr.
Trudgian.

"If my father's will makes any provision for her I can attend to it
without your interference." Roger glanced at Mr. Jose.

"I think," said that very respectable lawyer, "there can be no harm in
suffering Mr. Trudgian to remain, as an act of courtesy to Mrs. Stephen.
We need not detain him long. The will I have here was drawn by me on the
instruction of my late respected client, and was signed by him and
witnessed on the 17th of March, one thousand seven hundred and
twenty-five. It is his last and (I believe) his only one; for, like many
another man otherwise sensible, the deceased had what I may call an
unreasoning dislike--"

"What date?" put in Mr. Alfonso Trudgian pertly.

"I beg your pardon?--the 17th of March, one thousand seven hundred and
twenty-five."

"Then I'm sorry to interrupt ye, Jose, but since Mr. Roger wants me gone,
I have here a will executed by Mr. Stephen on February the 14th last--
St. Valentine's day. And it reads like a valentine, too. 'To my dear and
lawful wife, Elizabeth Stephen, I devise and bequeath all my estate and
effects, be they real or personal, to be hers absolutely. And this I do
in