The young man colored, and glancing at Agnes, was about to speak.  But on second thoughts he checked himself, as he did not wish to add to the embarrassment of the scene.  It was the widow who replied.  “Did Sir Hubert tell you why he made such a provision?” she asked, striving to preserve her calmness, which was difficult under the circumstances.

“Why, no,” said Jarwin, nursing his chin reflectively.  “Sir Hubert was always of a reticent disposition.  He simply instructed me to draw up the will you have heard, and gave me no explanation.  Everything is in order, and I am at your service, madam, whenever you choose to send for me.”

“But suppose I marry Mr. Lambert—­”

“Agnes, you won’t be such a fool!” shouted her brother, growing so scarlet that he seemed to be on the point of an apoplectic fit.

She turned on him with a look, which reduced him to silence, but carefully avoided the eyes of the cousin.  “Suppose I marry Mr. Lambert?” she asked again.

“In that case you will lose the money,” replied Jarwin, slightly weary of so obvious an answer having to be made.  “You have heard the will.”

“Who gets the money then?”

This was another ridiculous question, as Jarwin, and not without reason, considered.

“Would you like me to read the will again?” he asked sarcastically.

“No.  I am aware of what it contains.”

“In that case, you must know, madam, that the money goes to a certain person whose name is mentioned in a sealed envelope, now in my office safe.”

“Who is the person?” demanded Garvington, with a gleam of hope that Pine might have made him the legatee.

“I do not know, my lord.  Sir Hubert Pine wrote down the name and address, sealed the envelope, and gave it into my charge.  It can only be opened when the ceremony of marriage takes place between—­” he bowed again to Lady Agnes and this time also to Lambert.

“Pine must have been insane,” said Garvington, fuming.  “He disguises himself as a gypsy, and comes to burgle my house, and makes a silly will which ought to be upset.”

“Sir Hubert never struck me as insane,” retorted Jarwin, putting the disputed will into his black leather bag.  “A man who can make two million pounds in so short a space of time can scarcely be called crazy.”

“But this masquerading as a gypsy and a burglar,” urged Garvington irritably.

“He was actually a gypsy, remember, my lord, and it was natural that he should wish occasionally to get back to the life he loved.  As to his being a burglar, I venture to disagree with you.  He had some reason to visit this house at the hour and in the manner he did, and doubtless if he had lived he would have explained.  But whatever might have been his motive, Lord Garvington, I am certain it was not connected with robbery.”

“Well,” snapped the fat little man candidly, “if I had known that Pine was such a blighter as to leave me nothing, I’m hanged if I’d have allowed him to be buried in such decent company.”