''_Tisn't_ an indorsement. There, look--a memorandum on an envelope,' said
Abel Grimston, gruffly.
'Thanks--all right--that will do,' he responded, himself making a
pencil-note of it, in a long clasp-book which he drew from his coat-pocket.
The tape was carefully cut, and the envelope removed without tearing the
writing, and forth came the will, at sight of which my heart swelled and
fluttered up to my lips, and then dropped down dead as it seemed into its
place.
'Mr. Grimston, you will please to read it,' said Doctor Bryerly, who took
the direction of the process. 'I will sit beside you, and as we go along
you will be good enough to help us to understand technicalities, and give
us a lift where we want it.' 'It's a short will,' said Mr. Grimston,
turning over the sheets '_very_--considering. Here's a codicil.'
'I did not see that,' said Doctor Bryerly.
'Dated only a month ago.'
'Oh!' said Doctor Bryerly, putting on his spectacles. Uncle Silas's
ambassador, sitting close behind, had insinuated his face between Doctor
Bryerly's and the reader's of the will.
'On behalf of the surviving brother of the testator,' interposed the
delegate, just as Abel Grimston had cleared his voice to begin, 'I take
leave to apply for a copy of this instrument.
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