“A defect!—­where—­how?”

“It is really heart-breaking that so much skill and ingenuity should be thrown away; but the fact is, gentlemen, that the excellent person who signed it had no property to bequeath!”

“How?”

“Not a shilling’s worth.  Allow me, sir, if you please.  This piece of parchment, gentlemen, is, I have the pleasure to inform you, a marriage settlement.”

“A marriage settlement!” exclaimed both the men of law in a breath.

“A marriage settlement, by which, in the event of Mr. Harlowe’s decease, his entire property passes to his wife, in trust for the children, if any; and if not, absolutely to herself.”  Ferret threw the deed on the table, and then giving way to convulsive mirth, threw himself upon the sofa, and fairly shouted with glee.

Mr. Quillet seized the document, and, with Richards, eagerly perused it.  The proctor then rose, and bowing gravely to his astonished client, said, “The will, madam, is waste paper.  You have been deceived.”  He then left the apartment.

The consternation of the lady and her attorney may be conceived.  Madam Corelli, giving way to her fiery passions, vented her disappointment in passionate reproaches of the deceased; the only effect of which was to lay bare still more clearly than before her own cupidity and folly, and to increase Edith’s painful agitation.  I led her down stairs to my wife, who, I omitted to mention, had accompanied us from town, and remained in the library with the children during our conference.  In a very short time afterwards Mr. Ferret had cleared the house of its intrusive guests, and we had leisure to offer our condolences and congratulations to our grateful and interesting client.  It was long before Edith recovered her former gaiety and health; and I doubt if she would ever have thoroughly regained her old cheerfulness and elasticity of mind, had it not been for her labor of love in superintending and directing the education of her daughter Helen, a charming girl, who fortunately inherited nothing from her father but his wealth.  The last time I remember to have danced was at Helen’s wedding.  She married a distinguished Irish gentleman, with whom, and her mother, I perceive by the newspapers, she appeared at Queen Victoria’s court in Dublin, one, I am sure, of the brightest stars which glittered in that galaxy of beauty and fashion.

THE SECOND MARRIAGE.

A busy day in the assize court at Chester, chequered, as usual, by alternate victory and defeat, had just terminated, and I was walking briskly forth, when an attorney of rather low caste in his profession—­being principally employed as an intermediary between needy felons and the counsel practising in the Crown Court—­accosted me, and presented a brief; at the same time tendering the fee of two guineas marked upon it.

“I am engaged to-morrow, Mr. Barnes,” I exclaimed a little testily, “on the civil side:  besides, you know I very seldom take briefs in the Crown Court, even if proffered in due time; and to-morrow will be the last day of the assize in Chester!  There are plenty of unemployed counsel who will be glad of your brief.”