“I was not speaking about my own beggarly, tied-up legacy,” cried Jessop, who was now deadly pale, “but of the cruel, disgraceful way in which my father has behaved to a young lady whom he professed to love as a daughter, and led to expect that she would stand high in his will.”
Janet’s hands were extended deprecatingly toward the speaker, and Clive half rose in his chair, but sank back as the lawyer said coldly—
“Perhaps Mr Jessop Reed will listen to the codicil before he adds to a long list of injuries by casting aspersions upon the generosity of my dear dead friend.”
“What! is there a codicil?” cried Jessop.
The lawyer bowed his head.
“Then why have you kept it back, sir?”
“Because it comes last,” said the lawyer, with a faint smile, “and also because I have had no opportunity to read it on account of interruptions.”
A dead silence fell once more, and Clive darted a glance across to Janet, whose eyes, as far as he could see, appeared to be directed at his brother.
“The codicil,” began the lawyer, “is dated six months before our lamented friend’s death.”
He paused, and then read on, after the customary preliminaries—