“Allow my head, sir, to deserve the compliment which you have paid to it,” said Mrs. Lecount.  “The letter to the admiral is not written yet.  Your will there is a body without a soul—­an Adam without an Eve—­until the letter is completed and laid by its side.  A little more dictation on my part, a little more writing on yours, and our work is done.  Pardon me.  The letter will be longer than the will; we must have larger paper than the note-paper this time.”

The writing-case was searched, and some letter paper was found in it of the size required.  Mrs. Lecount resumed her dictation; and Noel Vanstone resumed his pen.

“Baliol Cottage, Dumfries,

“November 3d, 1847.

“Private.

“DEAR ADMIRAL BARTRAM—­When you open my Will (in which you are named my sole executor), you will find that I have bequeathed the whole residue of my estate—­after payment of one legacy of five thousand pounds—­to yourself.  It is the purpose of my letter to tell you privately what the object is for which I have left you the fortune which is now placed in your hands.

“I beg you to consider this large legacy as intended, under certain conditions, to be given by you to your nephew George.  If your nephew is married at the time of my death, and if his wife is living, I request you to put him at once in possession of your legacy; accompanying it by the expression of my desire (which I am sure he will consider a sacred and binding obligation on him) that he will settle the money on his wife—­and on his children, if he has any.  If, on the other hand, he is unmarried at the time of my death, or if he is a widower—­in either of those cases, I make it a condition of his receiving the legacy, that he shall be married within the period of—­”

Mrs. Lecount laid down the Draft letter from which she had been dictating thus far, and informed Noel Vanstone by a sign that his pen might rest.

“We have come to the question of time, sir,” she observed.  “How long will you give your cousin to marry, if he is single, or a widower, at the time of your death?”

“Shall I give him a year?” inquired Noel Vanstone.

“If we had nothing to consider but the interests of Propriety,” said Mrs. Lecount, “I should say a year too, sir—­especially if Mr. George should happen to be a widower.  But we have your wife to consider, as well as the interests of Propriety.  A year of delay, between your death and your cousin’s marriage, is a dangerously long time to leave the disposal of your fortune in suspense.  Give a determined woman a year to plot and contrive in, and there is no saying what she may not do.”

“Six months?” suggested Noel Vanstone.

“Six months, sir,” rejoined Mrs. Lecount, “is the preferable time of the two.  A six months’ interval from the day of your death is enough for Mr. George.  You look discomposed, sir; what is the matter?”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk so much about my death,” he broke out, petulantly.  “I don’t like it!  I hate the very sound of the word!”