THE DEAD MAN'S RELATIVES.

“I can tell you very little, Mr Capel.I have been your great uncle’s confidential solicitor ever since he returned from India.I was a mere boy when he went away.He knew me then, and when he came back he sought me out.”

“And that is twenty-five years ago, Mr Girtle?”

“Yes.The year you were born.”

“And he made you his confidant?”

“Yes; he gave me his confidence, as far as I think he gave it to any man.”

“And did he always live in this way?”

“Always.He filled up the house with the vast collection of curiosities and things that he had been sending home for years, and I expected that he would entertain, and lead the life of an English gentleman; but no, the house has been closed for twenty-five years.”

Mr Girtle, a clean-shaven old gentleman, with yellow face, dark, restless eyes and bright grey hair, took a pinch of snuff from a handsome gold box, flicked a few grains from his white shirt-front, and said “Hah.”

“Had my uncle met with any great disappointment?” said the first speaker, a frank-looking man with closely curling brown hair, and a high, white forehead.

“What, to make him take to this strange life?Oh, no.He was peculiar, but not unhappy.He liked to be alone, but he was always bright and cheerful at his club.”

“You met him there, then?” said a fresh voice, and a handsome, dark young fellow, who had been leaning back in an easy chair in the dim drawing-room, sat up quickly, playing with his little black moustache.

“Oh, yes!I used to dine with Colonel Capel when we had business to transact.”

“But, here you say he led the life of a miser!” continued the young man, crossing his legs, and examining the toe of his patent leather boot.

“I beg your pardon, Mr Gerard Artis, I did not say that.Your great uncle was no miser.He spent money freely, sometimes, in charities.Yes,” he continued, turning to where two ladies were seated.“Colonel Capel was often very charitable.”

“I never saw his name in any charitable list,” said the darker of the two ladies, speaking in a sweet, silvery voice; and her beautiful regular features seemed to attract both the previous speakers.

“No, Miss D’Enghien, I suppose not,” said the old man, nodding his head and rising to begin walking up and down, snuff-box in hand.“Neither did I. But he was very charitable in his own particular way, and he was very kind.”

“Yes,” said the young man who had first spoken; “very kind.I have him to thank for my school and college education.”

“Well yes,” said the old lawyer; “I suppose it is no breach of confidence to say that it is so.”

“And I have to thank him for mine, and the pleasant life I have led, Mr Girtle, have I not?” said the second of the ladies; and, but for the gloom, the flush that came into her sweet face would have been plainly visible.

At that moment the footman entered with a letter upon a massive salver, and as he walked straight to the old lawyer, he cast quick, furtive glances at the other occupants of the room.

“A note, eh?” said the old solicitor, balancing his gold-rimmed glasses upon his nose; “um um yes, exactly very delicate of them to write.Tell them I will see them shortly, Charles.”

The footman bowed, and was retiring as silently as he came over the soft carpet, when he was checked by the old solicitor.

“You will tell Mr Preenham to see that these gentlemen have every attention.”

“Yes sir.”

The footman left the room almost without a sound, for the door was opened and closed noiselessly.The only thing that broke the terrible silence that seemed to reign was the faint clink of the silver tray against one of the metal buttons of the man’s coat.As for the magnificently furnished room, with its heavy curtains and drawn-down blinds, it seemed to have grown darker, so that the faint gleams of light that had hung in a dull way on the faces of the great mirrors and the gilded carving of console and cheffonier, had died out.It required no great effort of the imagination to believe that the influence of the dead man who had passed so many solitary years in that shut-up house was still among them, making itself felt with a weight from which they could not free themselves.

Paul Capel looked across at the beautiful face of Katrine D’Enghien, thinking of her créole extraction, and the half French, half American father who had married his relative.He expected to see her looking agitated as her cousin, Lydia Lawrence, but she sat back with one arm gracefully hanging over the side of the chair, her lustrous eyes half closed; and a pang strongly akin to jealousy shot through him as it seemed that those eyes were resting on the young elegant at his side.

“Yes,” said the old solicitor, suddenly, and his voice made all start but Miss D’Enghien, who did not even move her eyelids; “as I was saying,” he went on, tapping his snuff-box, “I can tell you very little, Mr Capel, until the will is read.”

“Then there is a will?” said Miss D’Enghien.

The old lawyer’s brows wrinkled, as he glanced at her in surprise.

“Yes, my dear young lady, there is a will.”

“And it will be read, of course, directly after the funeral?” said the dark young man.

The lawyer did not reply.

“I suppose you think it’s bad form of a man asking such questions now; but really, Mr Girtle, it would be worse form for a fellow to be pulling a long face about one he never saw.”

“But he was your father’s friend.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Hence you, sir, are here,” continued the lawyer.“My instructions were clear enough.I was to invite you here at this painful time, and take my old friend’s place as your host.”

“You have been most kind, Mr Girtle,” said Miss D’Enghien.

“I thank you, madam, and I grieve that you should have to be present at so painful a time.My next instructions were to send for the Italian professor, who is here to carry out the wishes of the deceased.”

“Horrible idea for a man to wish to be embalmed,” said Artis, brutally.

Lydia Lawrence shuddered, and turned away her face.Paul Capel glanced indignantly at the speaker, and then turned to gaze at Katrine D’Enghien, who sat perfectly unmoved, her hand still hanging from the side of the chair, as if to show the graceful contour of her arm.

“Colonel Capel had been a great part of his life in the East, Mr Artis,” said the old lawyer, coldly.“He had had the matter in his mind for some time.”

“How do you know that?”

“By the date on my instructions, which also contained the Italian professor’s card.”

“And I suppose we shall have a very eccentric will, sir.”

“Yes,” said the lawyer quietly, “a very eccentric will.”

“Come, that’s refreshing,” said the young man with a fidgetty movement.“Well, you are not very communicative, Mr Girtle.You family solicitors are as close as your deed boxes.”

“Yes,” said the old lawyer, closing his gold snuff-box with a loud snap.

“Well, come, it can be no breach of confidence to tell us when the funeral is to be?”

The old lawyer took a turn or two up and down the room, snuff-box in hand, the bright metal glistening as he swung his hand to and fro.Then he stopped short, and said slowly:

“The successor to Colonel Capel’s enormous property will inherit under extremely peculiar conditions, duly set forth in the will it will be my duty to read to you.”

“After the funeral?” said Gerard Artis.

“No, sir; there will be no funeral.”

“No funeral!” exclaimed Artis and Paul Capel in a breath, and then they rose to their feet, startled more than they would have cared to own, for at that moment a strange wild cry seemed to come from the staircase, followed by a heavy crash.

“Good Heavens!” cried the old lawyer, dropping his snuff-box.

Katrine D’Enghien alone remained unmoved, with her head turned towards the door.