“Ah, the old time! the old time. But—but—what was it I was saying? I—I—Hudsley—quick! for Heaven’s sake! I—the key—the key——”
Stephen came round, in his eagerness risking recognition.
“The key?” he asked, so hoarsely that his voice might well be taken for an old man’s. “What key?”
“Feel—under my pillow!” gasped Ralph Davenant.
Stephen thrust his trembling hand under the pillow, and, with a leap of the heart, felt a key.
“The safe!” murmured a faltering voice. “The bottom drawer. Bring them to me! Quick!”
Stephen glided snake-like across the room to a small safe that stood in a recess, opened the door, and with trembling hands drew out the drawer. His hands shook so, his heart beat to such an extent, that as a movement in the next room struck upon his ears, he could scarcely refrain from shrieking aloud; but it was only the nurse, whom the old man would only allow to enter the room at intervals; and setting his teeth hard, and fighting for calm, Stephen took out two documents.
One was a parchment of goodly proportions.
Both were folded and endorsed on the back—the parchment with the inscription, “Last will and testament of Ralph Davenant, Gent., Jan. 18—.”
With eyes that almost refused to do their task, Stephen turned the other paper to the light, and read, “Will, July 18—.” This inscription was written in an old man’s hand—the parchment was engrossed as usual.