pleasantly,--yes, certainly, she must do it--some time or other.

"It is a very simple thing to do," the lawyer said. "I will save you all
trouble; nothing but your signature will be wanted--and that you give
every day."

"Oh, I should think nothing of the trouble!" she said.

"And it would liberate your mind from all care, and leave you free to
think of things more important still," said the clergyman.

"I think I am very free of care," she replied.

Then the doctor added bluntly, "And you will not die an hour the sooner
for having made your will."

"Die!" said Lady Mary, surprised. And then she added, with a smile, "I
hope you don't think so little of me as to believe I would be kept back
by that?"

These gentlemen all consulted together in despair, and asked each other
what should be done. They thought her an egotist--a cold-hearted old
woman, holding at arm's length any idea of the inevitable. And so she
did; but not because she was cold-hearted,--because she was so accustomed
to living, and had survived so many calamities, and gone on so long--so
long; and because everything was so comfortably arranged about her--all
her little habits so firmly established, as if nothing could interfere
with them. To think of the day arriving which should begin with some
other formula than that of her maid's entrance drawing aside the
curtains, lighting the cheerful fire, bringing her a report of the