“Wait a minute, sir,” cried Jessop, whose hand, as he stretched it out in the midst of a painful silence, was trembling visibly.
“Jessop—dear Jessop,” said Janet faintly, as she tore off her veil, “be calm;” and she took a step or two towards the infuriated man, while Clive felt sick, as if from some terrible blow, and sat gazing at the shrinking girl as, with her face drawn with misery and white as ashes, she touched his brother on the arm.
“Silence, woman!” he cried. “Here you!” and he turned to the lawyer, “give me that will.”
“I beg your pardon,” said the lawyer gravely. “I have read the document.”
“Give it to me, I say. I want to see for myself.”
“It is not customary, sir,” replied the lawyer. “You have heard its contents, and I am custodian, the representative of every one whose name is mentioned there.”
“Give it to me, I say,” cried Jessop, stepping forward. “I will read it aloud again—myself.”
There was a dull sound, a snap, and the rattle of a key being withdrawn.
“No, sir,” said the lawyer, placing the key in his pocket. “In your excited state, and as the elder son, I would not trust that document in your hand a moment.”
“And quite right,” said Dr Praed firmly.