“I am,” said Katherine, coming to the bedside.

“Here, take these keys”—­he drew them from under his pillows; “this one unlocks that bureau”—­pointing to a large old-fashioned piece of furniture, dark and polished, which stood on one side of the fireplace; “open it, and in the top drawer left you will find a long, folded paper.  Bring it to me.”

Katherine did as he directed, and could not help seeing the words, “Will of John Wilmot Liddell,” and a date some seven or eight years back, inscribed upon it.  She handed it to her uncle, arranging his pillows so that he might sit up more comfortably, while she rather wondered at the commonplace aspect of so potent an instrument.  A will, she imagined, was something huge, of parchment, with big seals attached.

John Liddell slowly put on his spectacles, and unfolding the paper, read for some time in silence.

“This will not do,” he said at last, clearly and firmly.  “I was mistaken in him.  The care for and of money must be born in you; it cannot be taught.  No, I can make a better disposition.  Could you take care of money, girl?” he asked sternly.

“I should try,” returned Katherine, quietly.

There was a pause.  The old man lay thinking, his lean, brown hand lying on the open paper.  “Write,” he said at length, so suddenly and sharply that he startled his niece; get paper and write to Newton.  Katherine brought the writing materials, and placed herself at the small table.

“Dear sir,” he dictated—­“Be so good as to come to me as soon as convenient.  I wish to make a will more in accordance with my present knowledge than any executed by me formerly.  I am, yours faithfully.”

Katherine brought over pen and paper, and the old man affixed his signature clearly.

“Now fold it up and send it to post.  No—­take it yourself; then it will be safe, and so much the better for you.”

Katherine called the good-natured Mrs. Knapp to take her place, and sallied forth.  She was a good deal excited.  Was she in a crisis of her fate?  Would her grim old uncle leave her wherewithal to give the dear mother rest and peace for the remainder of her days?  It would not take much; would he—­oh, would he remember the poor little boys?  She never dreamed of more than a substantial legacy; the bulk of his fortune he might leave to whom he liked.  How dreadful it was that money should be such a grim necessity!

She felt oppressed, and made a small circuit returning, to enjoy as much fresh air as she could, and called at some of the shops where she was accustomed to deal, to save sending the servant later.  She was growing a little nervous, and disliked being left alone in the house.

When she returned, her uncle was very much in the same attitude; but he had folded up his will and placed his hand under his head.

“You have been very long,” he said, querulously.

Katherine said she had been at one or two shops.