Mary looked at the dying man, whose features were writhed in pain, and shook her head.

‘Tell her,’ he murmured with bitter despair, and sank down into the pillows, dropping the fountain-pen, which had left a stain of ink on the sheet before Baines could pick it up.

‘Well, then, Miss Beechinor, if ye must know,’ Baines began with sarcasm, ’the will is as follows:  The testator—­that’s Mr. Beechinor—­leaves twenty guineas to his brother Mark to show that he bears him no ill-will and forgives him.  The rest of his estate is to be realized, and the proceeds given to the North Staffordshire Infirmary, to found a bed, which is to be called the Beechinor bed.  If there is any surplus, it is to go to the Law Clerks’ Provident Society.  That is all.’

‘I shall have nothing to do with it,’ Mary said coldly.

’Young lady, we don’t want ye to have anything to do with it.  We only desire ye to witness the signature.’

‘I won’t witness the signature, and I won’t see it signed.’

‘Damn thee, Mary! thou’rt a wicked wench,’ Beechinor whispered in hoarse, feeble tones.  He saw himself robbed of the legitimate fruit of all those interminable years of toilsome thrift.  This girl by a trick would prevent him from disposing of his own.  He, Edward Beechinor, shrewd and wealthy, was being treated like a child.  He was too weak to rave, but from his aggrieved and furious heart he piled silent curses on her.  ‘Go, fetch another witness,’ he added to the lawyer.

‘Wait a moment,’ said Baines.  ’Miss Beechinor, do ye mean to say that ye will cross the solemn wish of a dying man?’

‘I mean to say I won’t help a dying man to commit a crime.’

‘A crime?’

‘Yes,’ she answered, ’a crime.  Seven years ago Mr. Beechinor willed everything to his brother Mark, and Mark ought to have everything.  Mark is his only brother—­his only relation except me.  And Edward knows it isn’t me wants any of his money.  North Staffordshire Infirmary indeed!  It’s a crime!...  What business have you,’ she went on to Edward Beechinor, ‘to punish Mark just because his politics aren’t——­’

‘That’s beside the point,’ the lawyer interrupted.  ’A testator has a perfect right to leave his property as he chooses, without giving reasons.  Now, Miss Beechinor, I must ask ye to be judeecious.’

Mary shut her lips.

‘Her’ll never do it.  I tell thee, fetch another witness.’

The old man sprang up in a sort of frenzy as he uttered the words, and then fell back in a brief swoon.

Mary wiped his brow, and pushed away the wet and matted hair.  Presently he opened his eyes, moaning.  Mr. Baines folded up the will, put it in his pocket, and left the room with quick steps.  Mary heard him open the front-door and then return to the foot of the stairs.

‘Miss Beechinor,’ he called, ‘I’ll speak with ye a moment.’

She went down.