adding, by the prompting of that recollection about the witnesses, “She will take care of the servants.”  It filled one side only of the large sheet of notepaper, which was what Lady Mary habitually used.  Brown, introduced timidly by Jervis, and a little overawed by the solemnity of the bedchamber, came in and painted solidly his large signature after the spidery lines of his mistress.  She had folded down the paper, so that neither saw what it was.

“Now I will go to bed,” Lady Mary said, when Brown had left the room.  “And Jervis, you must go to bed too.”

“Yes, my lady,” said Jervis.

“I don’t approve of courtship at this hour.”

“No, my lady,” Jervis replied, deprecating and disappointed.

“Why cannot he tell his tale in daylight?”

“Oh, my lady, there’s no tale to tell,” cried the maid.  “We are not of the gossiping sort, my lady, neither me nor Mr. Brown.”  Lady Mary laughed, and watched while the candles were put out, the fire made a pleasant flicker in the room,—­it was autumn and still warm, and it was “for company” and cheerfulness that the little fire was lit; she liked to see it dancing and flickering upon the walls,—­and then closed her eyes amid an exquisite softness of comfort and luxury, life itself bearing her up as softly, filling up all the crevices as warmly, as the downy pillow upon which she rested her still beautiful old head.

If she had died that night!  The little sheet of paper that meant so much lay openly, innocently, in her writing-book, along with the letters she had written, and looking of as little importance as they.  There was nobody in the world who grudged old Lady Mary one of those pretty placid days of hers.  Brown and Jervis, if they were sometimes a little impatient, consoled each other that they were both sure of something in her will, and that in the mean time it was a very good place.  And all the rest would have been very well content that Lady Mary should live forever.  But how wonderfully it would have simplified everything, and how much trouble and pain it would have saved to everybody, herself included, could she have died that night!

But naturally, there was no question of dying on that night.  When she was about to go downstairs, next day, Lady Mary, giving her letters to be posted, saw the paper she had forgotten lying beside them.  She had forgotten all about it, but the sight of it made her smile.  She folded it up and put it in an envelope while Jervis went down-stairs with the letters; and then, to carry out her joke, she looked round her to see where she would put it.  There was an old Italian cabinet in the room, with a secret drawer, which it was a little difficult to open,—­almost impossible for any one who did not know the secret.  Lady Mary looked round her, smiled, hesitated a little, and then walked across the room and put the envelope in the secret drawer.  She was still fumbling with it when Jervis came back; but there was no connection