'A dreary disposition of property for a man of your age,' he said, 'I hope to receive a new set of instructions before you are a year older.'
'What instructions?' I asked.
'To provide for your wife and children,' he answered.
My wife and children! The idea seemed to be so absurd that I burst out laughing. It never occurred to me that there could be any absurdity from my own point of view.
I was sitting alone, after my legal adviser had taken his leave, looking absently at the newly-engrossed will, when I heard a sharp knock at the house-door which I thought I recognized. In another minute Rothsay's bright face enlivened my dull room. He had returned from the Mediterranean that morning.
'Am I interrupting you?' he asked, pointing to the leaves of manuscript before me. 'Are you writing a book?'
'I am making my will.'
His manner changed; he looked at me seriously.
'Do you remember what I said, when we once talked of your will?' he asked. I set his doubts at rest immediately—but he was not quite satisfied yet. 'Can't you put your will away?' he suggested. 'I hate the sight of anything that reminds me of death.'
'Give me a minute to sign it,' I said—and rang to summon the witnesses.
Mrs. Mozeen answered the bell. Rothsay looked at her, as if he wished to have my housekeeper put away as well as my will. From the first moment when he had seen her, he conceived a great dislike to that good creature. There was nothing, I am sure, personally repellent about her. She was a little slim quiet woman, with a pale complexion and bright brown eyes. Her movements were gentle; her voice was low; her decent gray dress was adapted to her age. Why Rothsay should dislike her was more than he could explain himself. He turned his unreasonable prejudice into a joke—and said he hated a woman who wore slate colored cap-ribbons!
I explained to Mrs. Mozeen that I wanted witnesses to the signature of my will. Naturally enough—being in the room at the time—she asked if she could be one of them.
I was obliged to say No; and not to mortify her, I gave the reason.
'My will recognizes what I owe to your good services,' I said. 'If you are one of the witnesses, you will lose your legacy. Send up the men-servants.'
With her customary tact, Mrs. Mozeen expressed her gratitude silently, by a look—and left the room.
'Why couldn't you tell that woman to send the servants, without mentioning her legacy?' Rothsay asked. 'My friend Lepel, you have done a very foolish thing.'
'In what way?'
'You have given Mrs. Mozeen an interest in your death.'
It was impossible to make a serious reply to this ridiculous exhibition of Rothsay's prejudice against poor Mrs. Mozeen.
'When am I to be murdered?' I asked. 'And how is it to be done? Poison?'
'I'm not joking,' Rothsay answered. 'You are infatuated about your housekeeper. When you spoke of her legacy, did you notice her eyes.'
'Yes.'
'Did nothing strike you?'
'It struck me that they were unusually well preserved eyes for a woman of her age.'
The appearance of the valet and the footman put an end to this idle talk. The will was executed, and locked up. Our conversation turned on Rothsay's travels by sea. The cruise had been in every way successful. The matchless shores of the Mediterranean defied description; the sailing of the famous yacht had proved to be worthy of her reputation; and, to crown all, Rothsay had come back to England, in a fair way, for the first time in his life, of making money.
'I have discovered a treasure,' he announced.
'It
On further explanation it appeared that the picture exposed for sale was painted on copper. Noticing the contrast between the rare material and the wretchedly bad painting that covered it, Rothsay had called t o mind some of the well-known stories of valuable works of art that had been painted over for purposes of disguise. The price asked for the picture amounted to little more than the value of the metal. Rothsay bought it. His knowledge of chemistry enabled him to put his suspicion successfully to the test; and one of the guests on board the yacht—a famous French artist—had declared his conviction that the picture now revealed to view was a genuine work by Guido. Such an opinion as this convinced me that it would be worth while to submit my friend's discovery to the judgment of other experts. Consulted independently, these critics confirmed the view taken by the celebrated personage who had first seen the work. This result having been obtained, Rothsay asked my advice next on the question of selling his picture. I at once thought of my uncle. An undoubted work by Guido would surely be an acquisition to his gallery. I had only (in accordance with his own request) to let him know that my friend had returned to England. We might take the picture with us, when we received our invitation to Lord Lepel's house.
FOURTH EPOCH.
My uncle's answer arrived by return of post. Other engagements obliged him to defer receiving us for a month. At the end of that time, we were cordially invited to visit him, and to stay as long as we liked.
In the interval that now passed, other events occurred—still of the trifling kind.
One afternoon, just as I was thinking of taking my customary ride in the park, the servant appeared charged with a basket of flowers, and with a message from Mrs. Rymer, requesting me to honor her by accepting a little offering from her daughter. Hearing that she was then waiting in the hall, I told the man to show her in. Susan (as I
