Come in!" There had been a tap at the study door; a maid-servant entered.
"There's a young woman down-stairs, sir, wishes to see you most particular." "Ah, indeed! Who is she?
What is her business with me ?" "I don't know, sir.

Something very important, she says." "Show her up." The girl departed, ran down-stairs, ran up again, followed by a respectable-looking young woman of pleasing aspect.
"Well, my child,"-- he was very fatherly and bland, was the Reverend Raymond Rashleigh--"and what may you want with me ?" "My Mistress sent me, sir.

I am Mrs.Holywell's maid." "Indeed!" said Mr.Rashleigh, vividly interested at once; "and how is Mrs.Holywell ?" "Very poorly, sir.

She thinks she's dying herself.

She wants to make her will to-night; that's why she sent for you." Mr.Rashleigh rose with very unwonted alacrity.
She was a distant relative of his, this dying Mrs.Holywell; ridiculously rich for a childless widow, and with no nearer heir than the reverend pastor of St.Pancras' Church.
"I will accompany you at once, my dear! Poor Mrs.Holywell! But it is the fate of all flesh! How did you come, pray?
It rains, does it not ?" A fierce gust of wind rattled the double windows, and frantically beat the rain against them by way of answer.
"I came in a carriage, sir.