She stopped, and left her last words time to gain their hold on his mind. The circumstances had been stated so clearly, the conclusion from them had been so plainly drawn, that he seized her meaning without an effort, and seized it at once.
“I see!” he said, vindictively clinching his hands. “I understand, Lecount! She shan’t have a farthing. What shall I do? Shall I leave the money to the admiral?” He paused, and considered a little. “No,” he resumed; “there’s the same danger in leaving it to the admiral that there is in leaving it to George.”
“There is no danger, Mr. Noel, if you take my advice.”
“What is your advice?”
“Follow your own idea, sir. Take the pen in hand again, and leave the money to Admiral Bartram.”
He mechanically dipped the pen in the ink, and then hesitated.
“You shall know where I am leading you, sir,” said Mrs. Lecount, “before you sign your will. In the meantime, let us gain every inch of ground we can, as we go on. I want the will to be all written out before we advance a single step beyond it. Begin your third paragraph, Mr. Noel, under the lines which leave me my legacy of five thousand pounds.”
She dictated the last momentous sentence of the will (from the rough draft in her own possession) in these words:
“The whole residue of my estate, after payment of my burial expenses and my lawful debts, I give and bequeath to Rear-Admiral Arthur Everard Bartram, my Executor aforesaid; to be by him applied to such uses as he may think fit.
“Signed, sealed, and delivered, this third day of November, eighteen hundred and forty-seven, by Noel Vanstone, the within-named testator, as and for his last Will and Testament, in the presence of us—”