“The will is remarkably concise.  Mrs. Lezzard makes sundry bitter statements which I think none will blame me for not repeating, though all may see them here who desire so to do; she then constitutes Mr. Clement Hicks, her nephew, sole residuary legatee.  There is no condition, no codicil; but I have regretfully to add that Mr. Hicks wins little but this barren expression of good-will from the testatrix; for the sufficient reason that she had nothing to leave.  She laboured under various delusions, among others that her financial position was very different from what is the case.  Upon her first husband’s death, Mrs. Coomstock, as she was then, made an arrangement with my late senior partner, Mr. Joel Ford, and purchased an annuity.  This absorbed nearly all her capital; the rest she lost in an undesirable speculation of her own choosing.  I am amazed at the present extent of her obligations.  This dwelling-house, for instance, is mortgaged to her medical man, Doctor Parsons, of Chagford.  There is barely money to meet the debts.  Some fifty or sixty pounds in my hands will be absorbed by the calls of the estate.  Mrs. Lezzard’s tastes—­I sorrow to say it—­were expensive in some directions.  There is an item of ten pounds twelve shillings for—­for brandy, if I may be pardoned for speaking plainly.  The funeral also appears to have been conducted on a scale more lavish than circumstances warranted.  However, there should be sufficient to defray the cost, and I am sure nobody will blame Mr. Hicks for showing this last respect to an amiable if eccentric woman.  There is nothing to add except that I shall be delighted to answer any questions—­any questions at all.”

A few moments later, the lawyer mounted his dog-cart and rattled off to enjoy a pleasant drive homeward.

Then the company spoke its mind, and Mary Lezzard’s clay might well have turned under that bitter hornet-buzz of vituperation.  Some said little, but had not strength or self-command to hide tears; some cursed and swore.  Mr. Lezzard wept unheeded; Mrs. Hicks likewise wept.  Clement sat staring into the flushed faces and angry eyes, neither seeing the rage manifested before him, nor hearing the coarse volleys of reproach.  Then in his turn he attracted attention; and hard words, wasted on the dead, hurtled like hail round his ears, with acid laughter, and bitter sneers at his own tremendous awakening.  Stung to the quick, the lame wheelwright, Charles Coomstock, gloated on the spectacle of Clement’s dark hour, and heaped abuse upon his round-eyed, miserable mother.  The raw of his own wound found a sort of salve in this attack; and all the other poor, coarse creatures similarly found comfort in their disappointment from a sight of more terrific mortification than their own.  Venomous utterances fell about Clement Hicks, but he neither heard nor heeded:  his mind was far away with Chris, and the small shot of the Coomstocks and the thunder of the Chowns alike flew harmlessly past him.  He saw his sweetheart’s sorrow, and her grief, as yet unborn, was the only fact that much hurt him now.  The gall in his own soul only began to sicken him when his eye rested on his mother.  Then he rose and departed to his home, while the little, snuffling woman ran at his heels, like a dog.