The draft for the Letter was a much longer document.  He obstinately read it through to the end, with an expression of perplexity and discontent which showed that it was utterly unintelligible to him.  “I must have this explained,” he said, with a touch of his old self-importance, “before I take any steps in the matter.”

“It shall be explained, sir, as we go on,” said Mrs. Lecount.

“Every word of it?”

“Every word of it, Mr. Noel, when its turn comes.  You have no objection to the will?  To the will, then, as I said before, let us devote ourselves first.  You have seen for yourself that it is short enough and simple enough for a child to understand it.  But if any doubts remain on your mind, by all means compose those doubts by showing your will to a lawyer by profession.  In the meantime, let me not be considered intrusive if I remind you that we are all mortal, and that the lost opportunity can never be recalled.  While your time is your own, sir, and while your enemies are unsuspicious of you, make your will!”

She opened a sheet of note-paper and smoothed it out before him; she dipped the pen in ink, and placed it in his hands.  He took it from her without speaking—­he was, to all appearance, suffering under some temporary uneasiness of mind.  But the main point was gained.  There he sat, with the paper before him, and the pen in his hand; ready at last, in right earnest, to make his will.

“The first question for you to decide, sir,” said Mrs. Lecount, after a preliminary glance at her Draft, “is your choice of an executor.  I have no desire to influence your decision; but I may, without impropriety, remind you that a wise choice means, in other words, the choice of an old and tried friend whom you know that you can trust.”

“It means the admiral, I suppose?” said Noel Vanstone.

Mrs. Lecount bowed.

“Very well,” he continued.  “The admiral let it be.”

There was plainly some oppression still weighing on his mind.  Even under the trying circumstances in which he was placed it was not in his nature to take Mrs. Lecount’s perfectly sensible and disinterested advice without a word of cavil, as he had taken it now.

“Are you ready, sir?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Lecount dictated the first paragraph from the Draft, as follows: 

“This is the last Will and Testament of me, Noel Vanstone, now living at Baliol Cottage, near Dumfries.  I revoke, absolutely and in every particular, my former will executed on the thirtieth of September, eighteen hundred and forty-seven; and I hereby appoint Rear-Admiral Arthur Everard Bartram, of St. Crux-in-the-Marsh, Essex, sole executor of this my will.”

“Have you written those words, sir?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Lecount laid down the Draft; Noel Vanstone laid down the pen.  They neither of them looked at each other.  There was a long silence.

“I am waiting, Mr. Noel,” said Mrs. Lecount, at last, “to hear what your wishes are in respect to the disposal of your fortune.  Your large fortune,” she added, with merciless emphasis.