o-do gentleman's table, but were put on as they
might be in a third-rate London lodging, with a tumbled tablecloth,
and dishes, plates, and cups all unlike each other.

"Mr Jones," said the attorney from Carmarthen, "this is your uncle,
Mr Brodrick, from Hereford." Then the two men who were so nearly
connected, but had never known each other, shook hands. "Of course,
this matter," continued Mr Apjohn, "is of great moment, and Mr
Brodrick has come over to look after his daughter's interests."

"I am very glad to see my uncle," said Cousin Henry, turning his
eye involuntarily towards the shelf on which the volume of sermons
was resting. "I am afraid I can't offer you much in the way of
breakfast."

"We breakfasted before we left Carmarthen," said Mr Apjohn. "If you
do not mind going on, we will talk to you whilst you are eating."
Cousin Henry said that he did not mind going on, but found it
impossible to eat a morsel. That which he did, and that which he
endured during that interview, he had to do and had to endure
fasting. "I had better tell you at once," continued Mr Apjohn, "what
we want to do now."

"What is it you want to do now? I suppose I have got to go into the
assizes all the same on Friday?"

"That depends. It is just possible that it should turn out to be
unnecessary."

As he said this, he looked into Cousin Henry's face, and thought that
he discerned something of satisfaction. When he made the suggestion,
he understood well how great was the temptation offered in the
prospect of not having to encounter Mr Cheekey.

"Both Mr Brodrick and I think it probable that your uncle's last will
may yet be concealed somewhere in the house." Cousin Henry's eye, as
this was said, again glanced up at the fatal shelf.

"When Mr Apjohn says that in my name," said Mr Brodrick, opening his
mouth for the first time, "you must understand that I personally know
nothing of the circumstances. I am guided in my opinion only by what
he tells me."

"Exactly," said Mr Apjohn. "As the father of the young lady who would
be the heiress of Llanfeare if you were not the heir, I have of
course told him everything,--even down to the most secret surmises of
my mind."

"All right," said Cousin Henry.

"My position," continued Mr Apjohn, "is painful and very peculiar;
but I find myself specially bound to act as the lawyer of the
deceased, and to carry out whatever was in truth his last will and
testament."

"I thought that was p