“I think I am punctual,” said the lawyer, taking his old gold watch from his fob, and replacing it with a nod. “Yes, nearly half-past eleven. Charles, will you summon all the servants. I think everyone is mentioned in the will,” he added, as Charles left the room. “You will excuse all formalities. I am strictly obeying instructions as to time and place.”
The old gentleman took a jingling bunch of keys from his pocket, bent down and opened the tin box, from which he took out a square folded parchment, crossed with broad green ribbons, and bearing a great seal.
This he laid upon the table before him, and sinking back in his chair, proceeded to deliberately take snuff. A dead silence reigned, and, in spite of himself, Paul Capel felt agitated, and sought from time to time to catch Katrine’s eye; while Lydia looked from one to the other sadly, and Gerard Artis lay back in his chair.
The door once more opened, and the servants filed in, led by Preenham, the butler, Ramo coming last, to stand with his arms folded and his head bent down upon his chest.
“Be seated,” said Mr Girtle; and his voice sounded solemn and strange.
There was a rustling as the servants sat down in a row near the door, Ramo doubling his legs beneath him, and crouching on the floor.
“The last will and testament of John Arthur Capel, late Colonel in the Honourable East India Company’s Service, Special Commissioner with her Highness the Ranee of Illahad; Resident at the court of her Highness the Begum of Rahahbad!”
So read the confidential solicitor and friend of the deceased, in a husky voice, his gold-rimmed glasses helping him to decipher the brown writing or endorsement of the yellow parchment. Then he continued:—
“I have followed out the instructions of the deceased to the letter, so far; and now, in continuance of these instructions, in your presence, I proceed to break this seal.”