"I don't know if you will remember Sir David's servant, Sir Edmund; he
was killed in the same battle as Sir David was, poor fellow. A big man
with red hair--a Scotchman--you'd have known that as soon as he opened
his mouth. He'd have chosen my boy from having known him here, in all
probability."

"Yes, yes," said Grosse impatiently; "but how do you know that what he
witnessed was a will?"

"Well, of course, I don't know, Sir Edmund, and of course the boy didn't
know what was in the paper he witnessed; but the missus will have it
that that paper was a will, and there'll be no getting it out of her
head that the right will has been lost. I was wondering about it when I
see you come into the yard, and I thought I'd just let you see the lad's
letter. It could do no harm, and it might do good."

Edmund had been absolutely silent during this narrative, with his eyes
fixed on the stud-groom's face.

"And where is Thomas now?" he asked, in a low voice.

"He's in North India somewhere, Sir Edmund, but that is his poor
mother's trouble; we've not had a line from him these three months."

"Oh, I'll find him for you," said Edmund, and he was just going to ask
what regiment Thomas was in when they were disturbed by the appearance
of Billy emerging from the hunters' stable, and Edmund Grosse felt an
unwarrantable contempt for a young man who dawdles away half the morning
in the stable.