“I am not so old as I look,” he said; “I may live another twenty years!”

“Well?” I asked.

“Well,” he answered, “much may happen in twenty years!”

With that he left me.  If he means any further mischief, I can tell him this—­he will find Me in his way.

To turn to a more pleasant subject.  Reflecting on all that had passed at my memorable interview with Romayne, I felt some surprise that one of the persons present had made no effort to prevent the burning of the will.  It was not to be expected of Stella—­or of the doctors, who had no interest in the matter—­but I was unable to understand the passive position maintained by the lawyer.  He enlightened my ignorance in two words.

“The Vange property and the Berrick property were both absolutely at the disposal of Mr. Romayne,” he said.  “If he died without leaving a will, he knew enough of the law to foresee that houses, lands, and money would go to his ‘nearest of kin.’  In plainer words, his widow and his son.”

When Penrose can travel, he accompanies me to Beaupark.  Stella and her little son and Mrs. Eyrecourt will be the only other guests in my house.  Time must pass, and the boy will be older, before I may remind Stella of Romayne’s last wishes on that sad morning when we two knelt on either side of him.  In the meanwhile, it is almost happiness enough for me to look forward to the day—­

NOTE.—­The next leaf of the Diary is missing.  By some accident, a manuscript page has got into its place, bearing a later date, and containing elaborate instructions for executing a design for a wedding dress.  The handwriting has since been acknowledged as her own, by no less a person than—­Mrs. Eyrecourt.