The next was Ella's.
"Dear life!"
For some reason, Madge's eyes were dim, and her tone still shaking.
"Isn't it a voice from the grave?" She looked down, biting her lower lip; then up again. "I think, Mr. Graham, this may be more in your line than ours."
She handed him the paper.
He read it. Without comment he passed it to Jack, who read it with Ella leaning over his shoulder. He placed it on the table, where they all four gathered round and looked at it.
The paper was stained here and there as with spots of damp. But these had in no way blurred the contents.
The words were as clear and legible as on the day they were written. The caligraphy was small and firm, and a little finical, but as easy to read as copperplate: the handwriting of a man who had taken his time, and who had been conscious that he was engaged on a weighty and a serious matter. The testator's signature was rather in contrast with the body of the document, and was bold and strong, as if he had desired that the witnesses should have no doubt about the fact that it was his name he was affixing.
Edward John Hurley's attestation was in a cramped legal hand, expressionless, while Louisa Broome's was large and straggling, the sign-manual of an uneducated woman.
Jack Martyn asked a question, addressed to Graham.