Mr. Dare wrote fast and quickly, and was concluding the last words. "It is written, sir."
"Read it."
Mr. Dare proceeded to do so. Short as the time was which it took to accomplish this, the old man had fallen into a doze ere it was concluded; a doze or a partial stupor. They could not tell which; but, in leaning over him, he woke up with a start.
"I can't die with this injustice unrepaired!" he cried, his memory evidently ignoring what had just been done. "Anthony Dare, your wife has no right to all my money. I shall leave half of it to Edgar. I want you to write it down."
"It is done, sir. This is the paper."
"Where? where? Why don't you get light into the room? It's dark—dark. This? Is this it?"—as Mr. Dare put it into his hand. "Now, mind!" he added, his tone changing to one of solemn enjoinder; "mind you act upon it. Julia has no right to more than her half share; she must not take more: money kept by wrong, acquired by injustice, never prospers. It would not bring you good, it would not bring a blessing. Give Edgar his legal half; and give him his old uncle's love and contrition. Tell him, if the past could come over again there should be no estrangement between us."
He lay panting for a few minutes, and then spoke again, the paper having fallen unnoticed from his hand.
"Julia, when you see Edgar's wife—Did I sign that paper?" he broke off.
"No, sir," said Mr. Dare. "Will you sign it now?"
"Ay. But, signed or not signed, you'll equally act upon it. I don't put it forth as a legal document; I suppose it would not, in this informal state, stand good in law. It is only a reminder to you, Anthony Dare, that you may not forget my wishes. Hold me up in bed, and have lights brought in."