it seem right by telling myself that Rose had enough property of her own and didn’t need this, but I couldn’t do it.  I have been in torment, holding wealth that didn’t belong to me, that has gnawed at my very heart all the time.  Now I am going to confess.  Here is Abrahama White’s last will and testament.  I found it in a box in the garret with some letters.  Abrahama wrote letters to her sister asking her to forgive her, and telling her how sorry she was, and begging her to come home, but she never sent one of them.  There they all were.  She had tried to salve her conscience as I have tried to salve mine.  She couldn’t do it, either.  She had to give it up, as I am doing.  Then she made her will and left all her property to Rose.”

Sylvia unfolded the roll of paper and began reading.  The will was very short and concise.  It was as follows: 

“I, Abrahama White, being in sound mind and understanding, and moved thereunto by a desire to make my peace with God for my sins before I give up this mortal flesh, declare this to be my last will and testament.  I give and bequeath to my niece, Rose Fletcher, the daughter of my beloved sister, deceased, my entire property, real and personal, to her and her heirs forever.  And I hereby appoint Sidney Meeks, Esquire, as my executor.

  “(Signed) Abrahama White.”

Sylvia read the will in her thin, strained voice, very clearly.  Every word was audible.  Then she spoke again.  “I have kept it secret all this time,” said she.  “My husband knew nothing of it.  I kept it from him.  I tried to hide from God and myself what I was doing, but I could not.  Here is the will, and Miss Rose Fletcher, who stands before you, about to be united to the man of her choice, is the owner of this house and land and all the property which goes with it.”

She stopped.  There was a tense silence.  Then Sidney Meeks spoke.  “Mrs. Whitman,” he said, “may I trouble you for the date of that document you hold, and also for the names of the witnesses?”

Sylvia looked at Sidney in bewilderment, then she scrutinized the will.  “I don’t see any date,” she said, at last, “and there is no name signed except just Abrahama’s.”

Meeks stepped forward.  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “Mrs. Whitman has, I am pleased to say, been under quite unnecessary anxiety of spirit.  The document which she holds is not valid.  It is neither dated nor signed.  I have seen it before.  The deceased lady, Miss Abrahama White, called me in one morning, shortly before her death, and showed me this document, which she had herself drawn up, merely to make her wishes clear to me.  She instructed me to make out a will under those directions, and I was to bring it to her for her signature, and produce the proper witnesses.  Then, the next day, she called me in to inform me that there had been a change in her plans since she had heard of her niece’s having a fortune, and gave me directions for the later will, which was properly made out, signed, witnessed, and probated after Miss White’s decease.  Mrs. Whitman is the rightful heir; but since she has labored under the delusion that she was not, I am sure we all appreciate her courage and sense of duty in making the statement which you have just heard from her lips.”