Sir Jasper had thus acted without the knowledge of his lawyer, the man with whom he had consulted on every other matter since his succession to the Baronetcy, consequently that gentleman was in ignorance of any such will being in existence.  It had been drawn by a competent lawyer residing in one of the suburbs of London, and had been properly witnessed, and was, in every particular, a regular, complete document.  The parties present on the occasion knew nothing of Sir Jasper, had never heard of Vellenaux or its owner, and in all probability would never hear of him again, as there was no likelihood of the will being contested.  Why he had acted in this manner is hard to say.

The Baronet had finished his letter, and was again musing, and muttering to himself, “Ralph Coleman, you are an unprincipled man.  Do you think your attempt to coerce my darling niece to listen to your suit has escaped me.  You have failed in that quarter and now come to me to assist you.  Well, well as she is safe I can afford to forgive you, and let you have a couple of thousand a year, to enable you to support yourself like a gentleman when the title descends to you.”  Here the Baronet resumed his pen and commenced the writing of a codicil in behalf of his cousin, Ralph Coleman.

Perfect tranquility reigned throughout the house, all, with the exception of Sir Jasper, had retired to rest, and there was no sound, save the ticking of the old-fashioned time-piece, with its monotonous and never varying tick, tick, and the scratching noise made by the quill as it traced its inky characters on the yet incomplete codicil the Baronet was preparing.  The candles had burned low in their sockets, and the fire on the hearth had died out unheeded by him who sat writing line after line.  Suddenly a spasm seized him.  He, with great difficulty, raised himself from the stooping position over the escritoire, but as he did so, another spasm, more violent than the first, attacked him.  He tried to call for assistance, but his tongue clove to his mouth.  He was suffocating.  He stretched his arm towards the silver bell, which stood on the table, but it was beyond his reach.  His head sank on the cushion of the chair.  His eyes closed, another convulsive start, and all was over.  Sir Jasper Coleman was no more.

For many months past it was customary whenever it was known that Sir Jasper would sit up late, for Mrs. Fraudhurst, on passing the door of his chamber before descending to the breakfast room, to tap and enquire whether the Baronet would come down to his breakfast or have it sent up to him.  On the following morning the widow on stopping at the chamber door discovered that it was ajar, and on pushing it gently open found the room was vacant, the bed undisturbed and, it was quite evident from its general appearance, that Sir Jasper could not have passed the night—­or any part of it—­there.  Though startled a little at first, Mrs. Fraudhurst was not long in