The old man bent over the table, his white hair shining in the centre of the little circle of light cast by the candles. Slowly and laboriously, in a tense silence, while Arthur, leaning over his shoulder, followed each movement of the pen, and Josina, half in light, half in shadow, watched them both from the farther side of the table, he wrote his name.
It was a perfect signature, though rather bolder and larger than usual, and “Excellent!” Arthur cried in a tone of relief, which betrayed the anxiety he had felt. “Good! It could not be better! Well done, sir!” He removed the paper as he spoke, but in the act looked sharply across at Josina. The girl’s eyes were upon him, but her face was in shadow, and he could not read its expression. He hesitated a moment, the paper in his hand, then he laid it on the table beside him—and out of her reach.
“Right!” said the Squire. “Then, now for business. Let’s have the lease. My hand’s in now.”
Arthur laid it before him, and guided his hand to the place. “Is there ink enough in the pen?” the old man asked.
“Quite enough, sir. It won’t do to blot it.”
“Right, lad, right!” The Squire wrote his name. “Now the counterpart!” he continued briskly, holding the quill suspended.
Arthur put it before him. He signed it, steadily and clearly. “All right?” he asked.
“Quite right. Couldn’t be better, sir.”
“Then, thank God that’s done!” He sank back in his chair, and raised his hand to take off his glasses, then remembered himself. “Pheugh!” he said, “it’s a job when you can’t see.” But it was plain that he was pleased with himself.
Arthur turned to Josina. “Your turn next!” he said; and he gave her the pen. He put the lease before her, and pointed to the place where she was to sign.