“Now, what do you say to this?” asked Leopold, as Verheyst folded up the letter with a thoughtful face.

“What do I say to it? Well, that it is a real woman’s letter; the most important point being contained in the post-scriptum.”

“Ahem! you may be right; how is it possible that a Christian woman, with one foot in the grave, can be inspired with such bitter hatred of this family, and probably for what is the merest trifle.”

“What shall I say?—From the merest trifles some of the longest and most difficult lawsuits have arisen. But, for your sake, Leopold, I could wish that this lady had been possessed of better feelings towards her relations; it would render the whole business simpler. If the young lady pleases you, marry her; if not, then propose to divide the fortune between you. You will both be independent, and one can live pretty comfortably on half a million.”

“Would to heaven she had left me thirty thousand guilders without conditions,” sighed Leopold; “then I should have none of this bother.”

“That certainly would have been pleasanter for you,” replied Verheyst, smiling, “but we get nothing for nothing; and if the old lady has chosen you to be her instrument of revenge, why you cannot do less than accept the encumbrance.”

“I don’t see it.”

“I feel sure that on her death-bed she chuckled at the idea of leaving a champion of her griefs behind.”

“That may be so; but if she imagined that for the sake of her money I should so far demean myself as to serve her evil designs, then either she was greatly mistaken in my character, or she received erroneous information about me.”

“At present, you don’t even know whether anything inconsistent with your character is demanded of you. Let me remind you that the depositions of the dead are not to be discussed, but as far as possible carried out. If after due inquiry you find yourself unable to fulfil the conditions of this will, it will still be possible for you to stop further proceedings.”

“I have written to the lawyer in that sense. I feel it my duty to see first whether a marriage be possible. This I am bound to do for the young lady’s sake; but I should like you to pay a visit to the Von Zwenkens, and bring me word what you think of the young lady, before I make my appearance.”

“How you do give yourself the airs of a millionaire already!” answered Verheyst—“opening the preliminaries of your marriage by an ambassador. I am sorry to say I cannot accept your commission, worthy patron.”

There was a mingling of irony and offended pride in the tone of this answer, which caused Leopold to start up in surprise.

“You do not mean me to take this reproach seriously?” he asked, feeling somewhat touched by his friend’s words. “You know well enough I only asked a friendly service of one whose clear judgment I prize above my own, blinded as I now am by a confusion of contending passions.”

“Of course. I quite understand your meaning. It was only my chaff; but, unfortunately, it is only too true that I am prevented from obliging you. To-morrow I stay here in the Hague to look after my own affairs, and then I shall have not a day, nor even an hour, to lose in making my preparations for a long voyage.”

“What long voyage are you alluding to?”

“Ah! that’s true; we have had so much to say about the change in your life, that I have forgotten to tell you about the change in my own. You are not the only person on whom fortune smiles. I have been offered and have accepted the post of private secretary to the newly appointed Governor-General of our Indian possessions. Besides the high salary, and the excellent opportunity of travelling to Java in such a comfortable way, my future prospects are so promising that I could not for a moment resist the temptation to go. It is much more agreeable to me than vegetating in a provincial town, on the look-out for ill-paid lawsuits or some legal appointment. I expatriate myself for a year or two, to return with all the importance of an Eastern nabob,” continued Verheyst, with a faint attempt at a jest which evidently did not come from the heart, as no pleasant smile lit up his face.

“I cannot say you are wrong, and yet I am sorry,” replied Leopold, with an effort to be cheerful; “all my plans for the future enjoyment of my fortune were bound up with you—we were to shoot, hunt, and travel together.”

“What about your wife?” asked William.

“My first condition would have been that she must treat my friend kindly.”

“It is all the better; you should not be under the necessity of making any such conditions. Possibly you may have difficulties enough to overcome, without my standing in the way.”

“Really, William, I feel inclined to refuse the fortune, and go to Java with you.”

“Nonsense, man, pluck up your courage, and trust to those feelings of honour and delicacy of which your present scruples only afford me a new proof. She may turn out to be a pearl of a wife, this young lady whom you are requested to enchase in gold. By the way, do you know her name, or where you are to go in order to make her acquaintance?”

“I have this morning received a letter from the lawyer in Utrecht, requesting me to pay him a visit as soon as possible, when he will give me all necessary information about General von Zwenken and his granddaughter Francis Mordaunt.”

“Mordaunt! Is her name Francis Mordaunt?” exclaimed Verheyst, in a tone of surprise and disappointment.

“Yes, don’t you like the name? or have you heard it before?” asked Leopold, all in a breath, for the serious looks of his friend alarmed him.

“Heard it before! Well, yes—indeed, often, as that of an English officer on half-pay who some years ago lived in my province; a man against whose character, so far as I know, nothing can be said.”

“Yes, but I am speaking about the daughter. Do you know her?”

“Not personally, and it is a dangerous thing to form an opinion from gossiping reports. What I have heard may not be correct; but if it be so, I cannot hide from you what it would only disturb your peace of mind to know. Therefore, I say, make your own inquiries, seek information from people you can trust, and trust only your own observations and experience.”

“Is she deformed? Is she a fright?” asked Leopold, growing uneasy.

“No, nothing of that sort; in fact, I believe she is rather good-looking—at least, enough so to attract admirers, but——”

“Come now, never falter, man! Give me the coup de grÂce at once. Is she a coquette?”

Verheyst shrugged his shoulders. “I have never heard it said she was; at least, it must be a strange sort of coquetry she’s accused of.”

“Don’t keep me on the rack any longer; but tell me at once the worst you know of her.”

“Oh, there’s nothing that one can really call bad; yet in your eyes it may appear sinister enough. What I have heard is, that an acquaintance of ours, a friend of my youngest brother, was madly in love with her, and she refused his offer in a manner little encouraging for you. According to his account she must be a regular shrew, who declines to marry on the grounds that she will acknowledge no man to be her lord and master. She so ill-treated this poor Charles Felters, the best-natured old sheep that ever went on two legs, that he has taken fright and run away—gone off to Africa, as if afraid of meeting her again in Europe. He is not only a good fellow in every respect, but what we call in common parlance a ‘catch,’ his father being the richest banker in our part of the country. I don’t wish to frighten you, but——”

“Well, I see nothing in all this to be frightened about,” said Leopold, calmly. “That she has refused a booby who runs away for fear of a woman, only proves her to be a girl of character. I begin to think there will be something piquant in this adventure, and I prefer a lively young lady to a wearisome, insignificant girl.”

“I am glad to hear you take up the subject so pleasantly. I, for my part, should not like to be engaged in such a contest, but you are morally obliged——”

“In fact, without the obligation, your account has so excited my curiosity that I should feel tempted to undertake this conquest. Do you see this portrait of the fifteenth century? It is that of one of my ancestors who, for the honour of his lady, suffered his left hand to be cut off. He was very ugly, and whenever I was naughty or in a temper my good mother would lead me up to this portrait and say, ‘Fie! Leopold, you are like the Templar,’ for he was a knight of that order. She said I had the same fierce glance of the eyes when I was naughty, and I have since been convinced that she was right. The resemblance struck me in a private interview I once had with my uncle, the Cabinet Minister. I was accidentally standing before a glass, when he upbraided the memory of my dead father, saying he had married a wife without fortune, instead of following his (my uncle’s) example—using his title as a bait with which to catch an heiress. His Excellency saw the likeness, too; for he politely turned the conversation, and led me to his antechamber, where I am sure he gave his footman orders to say ‘Not at home’ in future, if ever I should trouble to call again. But tell me more, all you know, about my future wife.”

“Well, she has had no education. Her manners are rude——”

“That I have gathered from my aunt’s letter; but it is not her fault, poor girl. I must try to improve her, and be both lover and schoolmaster to my wife. Who knows—perhaps I must also teach her music and dancing!”

“At any rate, you will not have to teach her fencing, for she’s already an adept at that—at least, according to Charles Felters’ report.”

“The deuce she is!” exclaimed Leopold, laughing; “that’s almost enough to frighten one.”

“Charles was really frightened. At that time she was a very young girl, yet she was already generally known in the little garrison-town where she lived by the nickname of Major Frank.”

“The nickname does not sound flattering, I must confess; however, I will see if there is not some way of enrolling this major under my colours, and then she shall retire from military life to settle down as a civilian.”

“It does me good to see you treat the matter so lightly, for there is nothing for it but your making the attempt.”

“It has always been my maxim to take a cheerful view of things,” said Leopold, with a touch of melancholy in his tone; “and, alas! I have been forced to do so under adverse circumstances hitherto. And now, my good fellow, let us go and look out for some dinner. I can recommend Pyl’s Restaurant.”

“Why not at the Club?” asked Verheyst; “there we shall meet many friends whom I wish to see before my departure.”

“I am no longer a member, my dear fellow. After my father’s death I was obliged to cut down all unnecessary expenses, as my mother had but a small pension, and I could bear retrenchment better than a person of her age. It is not the subscription, it is the company one meets which leads to extravagance, and those quiet little supper parties, the invitations to which it is impossible to refuse.”

At dinner, over a good bottle of wine, William made Leopold promise to write a full account of all that should take place during his absence in Java, and send to him by mail from time to time. We can only hope that this story will prove no less interesting to our readers than it did to William Verheyst.