“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—”