It ran thus:--"To Angus Reay I leave Mary Deane--and with Her, all that I value, and more than I have ever possessed!" Gradually, very gradually, Mary, sitting alone in Sir Francis Vesey's office, realised the whole position,--gradually the trouble and excitation of her mind calmed down, and her naturally even temperament reasserted itself.

She was rich,--but though she tried to realise the fact, she could not do so, till at last the thought of Angus and how she might be able now to help him on with his career, roused a sudden rush of energy within her--which, however, was not by any means actual happiness.

A great weight seemed to have fallen on her life--and she was bowed down by its heaviness.

Kissing David Helmsley's letter, she put it in her bosom,--he had asked that its contents might be held sacred, and that no eyes but her own should scan his last words, and to her that request of a dead man was more than the command of a living King.

The list of bequests she held in her hand ready to show Sir Francis Vesey when he entered, which he did as soon as she touched the bell.