So Tynn set about it.
Look at Mrs.Tynn over that deep, open drawer full of shirts.

She calls it "Master's shirt-drawer." Have the shirts scared away her senses?
She has sat herself down on the floor--almost fallen back as it seems--in some shock of alarm, and her mottled face has turned as white as her master's was, when she last saw him lying on that bed at her elbow.
"Go downstairs, Nancy, and stop there till I call you up again," she suddenly cried out to her helpmate.
And the girl left the room, grumbling to herself; for Nancy at Verner's Pride did not improve in temper.
Between two of the shirts, in the very middle of the stack, Mrs.Tynn had come upon a parcel, or letter.

Not a small letter--if it was a letter--but one of very large size, thick, looking not unlike a government despatch.

It was sealed with Mr.Verner's own seal, and addressed in his own handwriting--"For my nephew, Lionel Verner.

To be opened after my death." Mrs.Tynn entertained not the slightest doubt that she had come upon the lost codicil.