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<h3>Chapter Five.</h3> <h4>The Reading of the Will.</h4> There was a peculiar rustle in the gloomy room, a faint sound as of catching of the breath, and above all the sharp crackle of the broken wax as the seal was demolished, and the green ribbon thrown aside. Then after a prefatory Hem! the old lawyer proceeded to read the will, which was in the customary form, and began with a series of bequests to the old and faithful servants of the house, in respect of whose services, and so that there should be no jealous feeling as to amounts, he left each the sum of five hundred pounds free of duty, and ten pounds to each to buy mourning. “To my old and faithful servant, companion, and friend,”—read on the solicitor—“Ramo Ali Jee, two hundred and fifty pounds per annum for the rest of his natural life; the same to be secured in Three-per-cent Consols, reverting at his death as hereinafter stated.” Ramo did not move or utter a word. “To my old friend and adviser, Joshua Girtle, of the Inner Temple, the plain gold signet ring on the fourth finger of my left hand.” Then followed a few more minor bequests, and instructions of a very simple nature, ending one long paragraph in the will; and as Mr Girtle removed his glasses, and proceeded deliberately to wipe them, the servants took advantage of the gloom where they sat to give each other a congratulatory shake of the hand. “I now come to the important bequests,” said Mr Girtle, rebalancing his glasses in his calm deliberate way. “To Katrine Leveillée D’Enghien, daughter of my niece, Harriet D’Enghien, formerly Capel, the gold bangle presented to me by the Ranee, and one hundred pounds, free of duty, to buy mourning.” “There, what did I tell you?” said Katrine, in a low, sweet voice, as she smiled at her companions. “To Gerard Artis, son of my cousin, William Artis,” read on Mr Girtle, in the same monotonous, unmoved way; and then he stopped to draw one of the candles forward in front of the parchment. The young man shifted his position uneasily, and drew in his breath quickly as he thought of the testator’s immense wealth, and glanced at Katrine. “I shall not get all,” he thought, “for he will leave something to Paul Capel.” Then, after what seemed an age of suspense, the old solicitor went on: “The sum of one hundred pounds, free of duty, to buy mourning.” There was a death-like stillness as the lawyer paused. “Go on, sir, go on,” cried Artis, in a harsh voice. “To Lydia Alicia—” “No, no, finish the bequest to me.” “I did, sir. One hundred pounds to buy mourning.” “What? Treat me worse than his servants?” “I believe, Mr Artis, if you will excuse me, that a testator has a perfect right to do what he likes with his own.” “Then you influenced him,” cried Artis furiously. “I shall dispute the will.” The old gentleman smiled. “Influenced my old friend to leave me his signet ring, eh, Mr Artis? No, sir, the will was written by Colonel Capel himself, and afterwards transferred to parchment. If you will allow me. I will proceed.” “I shall dispute the will. I say so at once,” cried Artis, “that there may be no mistake. One hundred pounds each to Miss D’Enghien and myself! It is absurd, paltry, pitiful.” “You never saw the testator, Mr Artis?” “No, sir.” “Neither did you, Miss D’Enghien?” “I? Oh no.” “He told me himself,” continued the old lawyer, “that he had never seen either Miss Lawrence or Mr Paul Capel.” Lydia murmured an assent. “No,” said Capel, who felt a curious oppression at the chest, “I never saw my great uncle. I never even heard from or wrote to him.” “May I ask why?” “I knew he was reported to be immensely rich, and—well, I felt that he might think I was trying to curry favour.” “Let me see, Mr Artis, I think the deceased did pay your debts?” “Is this meant for an insult, sir?” “No, sir; it was a business-like defence of my old friend’s memory. To proceed:— “To Lydia Alicia Lawrence, my grand-niece, twenty-five thousand pounds, free of duty, the same to be invested in Consols, and if she marries, to be secured by marriage settlements to herself and children.” There was a buzz of congratulation here, as the old solicitor once more wiped his glasses and arranged them and the candles, while, in spite of his endeavours to preserve his calmness, Paul Capel, the only one present yet unmentioned, felt the oppression increasing, and the air in the great gloomy room seemed to have become thick and hard to breathe. He was as if in a dream as the lawyer went on: “To Paul Capel, son of my nephew, Paul Capel, I leave my freehold house and furniture, library, plate, pictures, statues, bronzes, and curios, conditionally that the house be kept during his lifetime in the same state as it is in now. “Conditionally, also, that my body, after embalming, according to my instructions, be carried into the room leading out of my bedroom, and placed in the iron receptacle I had specially constructed, without religious rite or ceremony of any kind. I have tried to make my peace with my Creator; to Him I leave the rest. This done, the iron chamber to be locked in the presence of the said Paul Capel, who shall take the key. The doorway shall then be built-up with blocks of stone similar to those of which I had the room built, a sufficiency of which are stored up in cellar Number 4, sealed with my seal. “And I here solemnly bind my heir and successor to observe exactly these my commands, that my body may rest undisturbed in my old home, under penalty of forfeiture of the said freehold as above named.” “He must have been mad,” said Artis, in an audible voice. “And as I, being now in full possession of my senses,” continued Mr Girtle, slightly raising his voice, “know that this is a strange and arduous burden to lay upon my heir in chief, though I have taken such precautions that in a short time my presence in the house may entirely be forgotten, I give and bequeath to him for his sole use and enjoyment—and in the hope that with the help and advice of my old friend, Joshua Girtle, he will sensibly invest, and sell and invest—the Russian leather case containing Bank of England notes amounting to five hundred thousand pounds.” Artis drew a long breath through his teeth; Katrine D’Enghien leaned forward, with her beautiful eyes fixed on Paul Capel; Lydia sank back in her seat with a feeling of misery she could not have explained seeming to crush her; while Paul Capel sat now unmoved. “And,” continued the old lawyer, “the flat silver case containing the diamonds, pearls, rubies, and emeralds, bequeathed to me by my mistresses, the Ranee of Illahad and Begum of Rahahbad, valued at one million sterling, more or less. These cases are in the steel chest in the iron chamber in which my coffin is to be placed when the cases are taken out, the keys of which, and the secret of the lock, being known only to my old friend, Joshua Girtle, whom I constitute my sole executor, and my old friend and servant, Ramo, whom I commend to the care of my grand-nephew, the said Paul Capel. “Furthermore, the remainder of the sum of fifty thousand pounds in Consols, after providing for the payments hereinbefore stated as legacies, I desire my executor to distribute in twenty equal sums to as many deserving charities as he may select.” The reading of the rest of the document occupied scarcely a couple of minutes, and then the old solicitor rose. The servants slowly left the room, making a détour so as to bow and courtesy to the Colonel’s heir, Ramo last—furtively watching Charles—to go slowly to the young man’s side, bow reverently, take his hand, and kiss it, saying softly the one word: “Sahib.” “Don’t go, Ramo,” said Mr Girtle; and the old Indian slowly backed into the corner by the door, where he stood nearly invisible, waiting until such time as he should be called upon to give up his share of the secret of the chamber beyond the dead man’s room. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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