To Mannering, the most interesting of the group was the poor girl, who had been a sort of humble companion of the deceased, as a subject upon whom she could at all times expectorate her bad humour. She was for form's sake dragged into the room by the deceased's favourite female attendant, where, shrinking into a corner as soon as possible, she saw with wonder and affright the intrusive researches of the strangers amongst those recesses to which from childhood she had looked with awful veneration. This girl was regarded with an unfavourable eye by, all the competitors, honest Dinmont only excepted; the rest conceived they should find in her a formidable competitor, whose claims might at least encumber and diminish their chance of succession. Yet she was the only person present who seemed really to feel sorrow for the deceased. Mrs. Bertram had been her protectress, although from selfish motives, and her capricious tyranny was forgotten at the moment while the tears followed each other fast down the cheeks of her frightened and friendless dependant. "There's ower muckle saut water there, Drumquag," said the tobacconist to the ex-proprietor, "to bode ither folk muckle gude. Folk seldom greet that gate but they ken what it's for. Mr. MacCasquil only replied with a nod, feeling the propriety of asserting his superior gentry in presence of Mr. Pleydell and Colonel Mannering.
"Very queer if there suld be nae will after a', friend," said
Dinmont, who began to grow impatient, to the man of business.
"A moment's patience, it you please—she was a good and prudent woman, Mrs. Margaret Bertram—a good, and prudent and well-judging woman, and knew how to choose friends and depositories—she may have put her last will and testament, or rather her mortis causa settlement, as it relates to heritage, into the hands of some safe friend."
"I'll bet a rump and dozen," said Pleydell, whispering to the Colonel, "he has got it in his own pocket;"—then addressing the man of law, "Come, sir, we'll cut this short if you please-here is a settlement of the estate of Singleside, executed several years ago, in favour of Miss Lucy Bertram of Ellangowan—"The company stared fearfully wild. "You, I presume, Mr. Protocol, can inform us if there is a later deed?"
"Please to favour me, Mr. Pleydell;"—and so saying, he took the deed out of the learned counsel's hand, and glanced his eve over the contents.
"Too cool," said Pleydell, "too cool by half—he has another deed in his pocket still."
"Why does he not show it then, and be d-d to him!" said the military gentleman, whose patience began to wax threadbare.
"Why, how should I know?" answered the barrister,—"why does a cat not kill a mouse when she takes him?—the consciousness of power and the love of teasing, I suppose. —Well, Mr. Protocol, what say you to that deed?"
"Why, Mr. Pleydell, the deed is a well-drawn deed, properly authenticated and tested in forms of the statute."
"But recalled or superseded by another of posterior date in your possession, eh?" said the counsellor.