doorway. He had forgotten his tonsure.

"That he does not go into religion--that he devotes no part of it to the
benefit or advantage of the church."

The notary sat very straight while he wrote this down.

"My son is in Saragossa," said Mogente suddenly, with a change of manner.
"I will see him. Send for him."

The notary glanced up at Evasio Mon, who shook his head.

"I cannot send for him at two in the morning."

"Then I will sign no will."

"Sign the will now," suggested the lawyer, with a look of doubt towards
the dark doorway behind the sick man's head. "Sign now, and see your son
to-morrow."

"There is no to-morrow, my friend. Send for my son at once."

Mon grudgingly nodded his head.

"It is well, I will do as you wish," said the notary, only too glad, it
would seem, to rise and go into the next room to receive further minute
instructions from his chief.

The dying man laid with closed eyes, and did not move until his son spoke
to him. Leon de Mogente was a sparely-built man, with a white and