'Well—about the cursed document itself?' began Roland a little impetuously.
'Strong language, my dear sir—strong language! The terms of your respected father's will are, I must say, a little peculiar, and were framed much against my advice; though his old family agent, I scarcely felt justified in drawing out the document.'
'I have heard that its conditions are outrageous.'
'They are—my dear sir—they are.'
'Such as no respectable lawyer should have drawn up,' said Roland sternly.
'Captain Lindsay, there you are wrong—severe—but I excuse you,' replied Mr. M'Wadsett, perking up his bald, shining head, as he drew the document in question from a charter box, after some trouble in finding the key thereof, and which Roland eyed—without touching it—with a very gloomy and louring expression.
'Dear me—dear me,' muttered M'Wadsett, as, seating himself in a well-stuffed circular chair, and adjusting his spectacles, he glanced over the document. 'He wrote: "I have delayed making my will so long as I have thought it safe to do so, but I am an old man now, and the gross and wilful extravagance of——" Shall I read it all, Captain Lindsay? The first few clauses are unimportant enough: £1,000 to Sir Harry Maule; some jewellery to his daughter Hester—bequests to the servants—Funnell the butler, Buckle the head groom, and then with the provisions appointed for your sister and yourself——'
'Comes the "crusher," I suppose,' interrupted Roland, crashing his right heel on the floor.
'Precisely so, my dear sir; I don't wonder that you feel it; but listen and I shall read it all.'
'Please don't,' cried Roland; 'lawyers make everything so lengthy, so elaborate, so full of circumlocution and irritating repetition. Cut it short—the gist of it.'