It was obvious, therefore, that Stephen did not mean him to have anything.

Well, he had scarcely expected anything.

If his daughter inherited all, it would be pretty much the same thing; she would act generously of course.
He went into the kitchen, where the head man, who had been retained on the premises to act as special messenger in this time of need, was sitting in the chimney-corner smoking a comfortable pipe after his walk to and from Malsham.
"You're wanted upstairs a minute, Joe," he said; and the two went clumping up the wide old oaken staircase.
The witnessing of the will was a very brief business.

Mr.Pivott did not offer to throw any light upon its contents, nor was the bailiff, sharpsighted as he might be, able to seize upon so much as one paragraph or line of the document during the process of attaching his signature thereto.
When the ceremony was concluded, Stephen Whitelaw sank back upon his pillow with an air of satisfaction.
"I don't think I could have done any better," he murmured.
"It's a hard thing for a man of my age to leave everything behind him; but I don't see that I could have done better." "You have done that, my dear sir, which might afford comfort to any death-bed," said the lawyer solemnly.
He folded the will, and put it into his pocket.
"Our friend desires me to take charge of this document," he said to William Carley.

"You will have no reason to complain, on your daughter's account, when you become familiar with its contents.