JOHN BELLINGHAM'S WILL


The task upon which I had embarked so lightheartedly, when considered in
cold blood, did certainly appear, as Miss Bellingham had said, rather
appalling. The result of two and a half hours' pretty steady work at an
average speed of nearly a hundred words a minute, would take some time
to transcribe into longhand; and if the notes were to be delivered
punctually on the morrow, the sooner I got to work the better.

Recognising this truth, I lost no time, but, within five minutes of my
arrival at the surgery, was seated at the writing-table with my copy
before me busily converting the sprawling, inexpressive characters into
good, legible round-hand.

The occupation was by no means unpleasant, apart from the fact that it
was a labour of love; for the sentences, as I picked them up, were
fragrant with reminiscences of the gracious whisper in which they had
first come to me. And then the matter itself was full of interest. I was
gaining a fresh outlook on life, was crossing the threshold of a new
world (which was _her_ world); and so the occasional interruptions from
patients, while they gave me intervals of enforced rest, were far from
welcome.

The evening wore on without any sign from Nevill's Court, and I began to
fear that Mr. Bellingham's scruples had proved insurmountable. Not, I am
afraid, that I was so much concerned for the copy of the will as for
the possibility of a visit, no matter howsoever brief, from my fair
employer; and when, on the stroke of half-past seven, the surgery door