They had assembled there for the purpose of hearing the will read.  The desk of Mr. Verner was brought forward and laid upon the table.  Lionel, taking his late uncle’s keys from his pocket, unlocked it, and delivered a parchment which it contained to Mr. Matiss.  The lawyer saw at a glance that it was the old will, not the codicil, and he waited for Lionel to hand him also the latter.

“Be so kind as read it, Mr. Matiss,” said Lionel, pointing to the will.

It had to be read; and it was of no consequence whether the codicil was taken from the desk before reading the original will, or afterwards, so Mr. Matiss unfolded it, and began.

It was a somewhat elaborate will—­which has been previously hinted.  Verner’s Pride, with its rich lands, its fine income, was left to John Massingbird; in the event of John’s death, childless, it went to Frederick; in the event of Frederick’s death, childless, it passed to Lionel Verner.  There the conditions ended; so that, if it did lapse to Lionel, it lapsed to him absolutely.  But it would appear that the contingency of both the Massingbirds dying had been only barely glanced at by Mr. Verner.  Five hundred pounds were left to Lionel:  five hundred to Jan; five hundred to Decima; nothing to Lady Verner.  Mrs. Verner was suitably provided for, and there were bequests to servants.  Twenty-five pounds for “a mourning ring” were bequeathed to each of the two executors, Sir Rufus Hautley, and Mr. Bitterworth; and old Matthew Frost had forty pounds a year for his life.  Such were the chief features of the will; and the utter astonishment it produced on the minds and countenances of some of the listeners was a sight to witness.  Lionel, Mrs. Verner, Jan, and Sir Rufus Hautley were petrified.

Sir Rufus rose.  He was a thin, stately man, always dressed in hessian boots and the old-fashioned shirt-frill.  A proud, impassive countenance was his, but it darkened now.  “I will not act,” he began.  “I beg to state my opinion that the will is an unfair one—­”

“I beg your pardon, Sir Rufus,” interrupted the lawyer.  “Allow me a word.  This is not the final will of Mr. Verner; much of it has been revoked by a recent codicil.  Verner’s Pride comes to Mr. Lionel.  You will find the codicil in the desk, sir,” he added to Lionel.

Lionel, his pale face haughty, and quite as impassive as that of Sir Rufus, for anything like injustice angered him, opened the desk again.  “I was not aware,” he observed.  “My uncle told me on the day of his death that the will would be found in his desk; I supposed that to be it.”

“It is the will,” said Mr. Matiss.  “But he caused me to draw up a later codicil, which revoked the bequest of Verner’s Pride.  It is left to you absolutely.”

Lionel was searching in the desk.  The few papers in it appeared to be arranged with the most methodical neatness:  but they were small, chiefly old letters.  “I don’t see anything like a codicil,” he observed.  “You had better look yourself, Mr. Matiss; you will probably recognise it.”