“You miserably innocent child!  You poor, unworldly infant!  I will endeavor to beat it into your comprehension, if you will listen.  Your deceased uncle made two wills; one a few months ago, leaving the bulk of his fortune to his niece, Miss Helen Stillinghast, and to his other niece, May Brooke, the splendid life annuity of one hundred and fifty dollars.  But on Thursday last having felt, by the judgment and grace of God, that so unequal a division was unjust, and being convinced that the said May Brooke would squander his gains precisely as he wished at that moment he had been doing all his life, viz., amongst the poor, destitute, and afflicted, he made another will, in which he devised the handsome sum of fifty thousand dollars, and some real estate, to Helen Stillinghast; and to May Brooke, his well-beloved niece and heiress, two hundred thousand dollars, this house, lot, and furniture, and other properties.  But this will is missing—­burnt up, it is supposed; and the first one is good in law, and I will read it, although I protest against its being executed until a thorough investigation is made, and I am well assured that there has been no foul play in the case,” said the lawyer, impressively.

“Mr. Fielding,” said Walter Jerrold, speaking out from the most honorable motives, “I feel as you do; and before reading the will, let us make a more patient and thorough search.  We may have over-looked it.  Neither Helen, nor myself, could ever feel satisfied, or happy, in the possession of property which, in the sight of Heaven, belongs to another.”

“Sir, your sentiments do you honor.  I accept of your suggestions,” said Mr. Fielding, fixing a penetrating gaze on Walter Jerrold’s countenance.  “Come, May, you go with us, and help us to search high and low through the closet and bureau.”

Father Fabian, who had come at the request of Mr. Fielding, had been a silent, but not unconcerned witness of this strange and unexpected scene, and looked for its issue with the deepest interest.  Dr. Burrell exploded every now and then in opinions, which contained more feeling than legal reasoning, and consequently were of no importance.  Helen’s presence restrained all conversation on the subject while the others were absent from the room, and Father Fabian, having no time to drift idly on a single moment of his life, took a seat in one of the deep embrasures of the windows, and read portions of his “office” from the well-worn Breviary, which he drew from his pocket.

But the search for the lost will was in vain.  Assisted zealously by Walter Jerrold and May, Mr. Fielding left no corner of the room unexplored.  The bed and mattress—­the tester and curtains, were turned, shaken, and unfolded.  Every drawer and nook was inspected.  The shelves of the little closet were removed, and the panel at the back and sides pried off, but in vain; and Mr. Fielding sat down quite exhausted, and folding his hands, exclaimed, or rather growled, “I congratulate you, May.  It has all turned out precisely as your humility hoped it would, no doubt.”