Ysaffich's retreat was a small cottage about two miles from Dinant, and on the verge of the Ardennes forest. He had purchased it from a retired “Garde Chasse” some years before, “seeing,” as he said, “it was exactly the kind of place a man may lie concealed in, whenever the time comes, as it invariably does come, that one wants to escape from recognition.”

I have already said that he was not very communicative as we went along; but as we drew nigh to Dinant he told me in a few words the chief events of his career since we had parted.

“I have made innumerable mistakes in life, Gervois, but my last was the worst of all. I married! Yes, I persuaded your old acquaintance Madame von Geysiger to accept me at last. She yielded, placed her millions and tens of millions at my disposal, and three months after we were beggared. Davoust found, or said he found, that I was a Russian spy; swore that I was carrying on a secret correspondence with Sweden; confiscated every sou we had in the world, and threw me into jail at Lubeck, from which I managed to escape, and made my way to Paris. There I preferred my claim against the marshal: at first before the cour militaire, then to the minister, then to the Emperor. They all agreed that Davoust was grossly unjust; that my case was one of the greatest hardship, and so on; that the money was gone, and there was no help for it. In fact, I was pitied by some, and laughed at by others; and out of sheer disgust at the deplorable spectacle I presented, a daily supplicant at some official antechamber, I agreed to take my indemnity in the only way that offered,—a commission in the newly raised Polish Legion, where I served for two years, and quitted three days ago in the manner you witnessed.”

His narrative scarcely occupied more words than I have given it. He told me the story as we led our horses up a narrow bridle-path that ascended from the river's side to a little elevated terrace where a cottage stood.

“There,” said he, pointing with his whip, “there is my pied À terre, all that I possess in the world, after twenty years of more persevering pursuit of wealth than any man in Europe. Ay, Gervois, for us who are not born to the high places in this world, there is but one road open to power, and that is money! It matters not whether the influence be exerted by a life of splendor or an existence of miserable privation,—money is power, and the only power that every faction acknowledges and bows down to. He who lends is the master, and he who borrows is the slave. That is a doctrine that monarchs and democrats all agree in. The best proof I can afford you that my opinion is sincere lies in the simple fact that he who utters the sentiment lives here;” and with these words he tapped with the head of his riding-whip at the door of the cottage.

Although only an hour after the sun set, the windows were barred and shuttered for the night, and all within seemingly had retired to rest. The Count repeated his summons louder; and at last the sounds of heavy sabots were heard approaching the door. It was opened at length, and a sturdy-looking peasant woman, in the long-eared cap and woollen jacket of the country, asked what we wanted.

“Don't you know me, Lisette?” said the Count. “How is madame?”

The brown cheeks of the woman became suddenly pale, and she had to grasp the door for support before she could speak.

“Eh heu!” said he, accosting her familiarly in the patois of the land, “what is it? what has happened here?”

The woman looked at me and then at him, as though to say that she desired to speak to him apart. I understood the glance, and fell back to a little distance, occupying myself with my horse, ungirthing the saddle, and so on. The few minutes thus employed were passed in close whispering by the others, at the end of which the Count said aloud,—

“Well, who is to look after the beasts? Is Louis not here?”

“He was at Dinant, but would return presently.”

“Be it so,” said the Count; “we 'll stable them ourselves. Meanwhile, Lisette, prepare something for our supper.—Lisette has not her equal for an omelet,” said he to me, “and when the Meuse yields us fresh trout, you 'll acknowledge that her skill will not discredit them.”

The woman's face, as he spoke these words in an easy, jocular tone, was actually ghastly. It seemed as if she were contending against some sickening sensation that was over-powering her, for her eyes lost all expression, and her ruddy lips grew livid. The only answer was a brief nod of her head as she turned away and re-entered the house. I watched the Count narrowly as we busied ourselves about our horses, but nothing could be possibly more calm, and to all seeming unconcerned, than his bearing and manner. The few words he spoke were in reference to objects around us, and uttered with careless ease.

When we entered the cottage we found Lisette had already spread a cloth, and was making preparations for our supper; and Ysaffich, with the readiness of an old campaigner, proceeded to aid her in these details. At last she left the room, and, looking after her for a second or two in silence, he said compassionately,—

“Poor creature! she takes this to heart far more heavily than I could have thought;” and then, seeing that the words were not quite intelligible to me, he added, “Yes, mon cher GrÉgoire, I am a bachelor once more; Madame the Countess has left me! Weary of a life of poverty to which she had been so long unaccustomed, she has returned to the world again—to the stage, perhaps—who knows?” added he, with a careless indifference, and as though dismissing the theme from his thoughts forever.

I had never liked him, but at no time of our intercourse did he appear so thoroughly odious to me as when he uttered these words.

There is some strange fatality in the way our characters are frequently impressed by circumstances and intimacies which seem the veriest accidents. We linger in some baneful climate till it has made its fatal inroad on our health; and so we as often dally amidst associations fully as dangerous and deadly. In this way did I continue to live on with Ysaffich, daily resolving to leave him, and yet, by some curious chain of events, bound up inseparably with his fortunes. At one moment his poverty was the tie between us We supported ourselves by the chasse, a poor and most precarious livelihood, and one which we well knew would fail us when the spring came. At other moments he would gain an influence over me by the exercise of that sanguine, hopeful spirit which seemed never to desert him. He saw, or affected to see, that the great drama of revolution which closed the century in France must yet be played out over the length and breadth of Europe, and that in this great piece the chief actors would be those who had all to gain and nothing to lose by the convulsion. “We shall have good parts in the play, GrÉgoire,” would he repeat to me, time after time, till he thoroughly filled my mind with ambitions that rose far above the region of all probability, and, worse still, that utterly silenced every whisper of conscience within me.

Had he attempted to corrupt me by the vulgar ideas of wealth,—by the splendor of a life of luxurious ease and enjoyment, with all the appliances of riches,—it is more than likely he would have failed. He however assailed me by my weak side: the delight I always experienced in acts of protection and benevolence—the pleasure I felt in being regarded by others as their good genius—this was a flattery that never ceased to sway me! The selfishness of such a part lay so hidden from view; there was a plausibility in one's conviction of being good and amiable,—that the enjoyment became really of a higher order than usually waits on mere egotism. I had been long estranged from the world, so far as the ties of affection and friendship existed. For me there was neither home nor family, and yet I yearned for what would bind me to the cause of my fellow-men. All my thoughts were now centred on this object, and innumerable were the projects by which I amused my imagination about it. Ysaffich perhaps detected this clew to my confidence. At all events, he made it the pivot of all reasonings with me. To be powerless with good intentions—to have the “will” to work for good, and yet want the “way”—was, he would say, about the severest torture poor humanity could be called on to endure. When he had so far imbued my mind with these notions that he found me not only penetrated with his own views, but actually employing his own reasonings, his very expressions, to maintain them, he then advanced a step further; and this was to demonstrate that to every success in life there was a compromise attached, as inseparable as were shadow and substance.

“Was there not,” he would say, “a compensation attached to every great act of statesmanship, to every brilliant success in war,—in fact, to every grand achievement, wherever and however accomplished? It is simply a question of weighing the evil against the good, whatever we do in life; and he is the best of us who has the largest balance in the scales of virtue.”

When a subtle theory takes possession of the mind, it is curious to mark with what ingenuity examples will suggest themselves to sustain and support it. Ysaffich possessed a ready memory, and never failed to supply me with illustrations of his system. There was scarcely a good or great name of ancient or modern times that he could not bring within this category; and many an hour have we passed in disputing the claims of this one or that to be accounted as the benefactor or the enemy of mankind. If I recall these memories now, it is simply to show the steps by which a mind far more subtle and acute than my own succeeded in establishing its influence over me.

I have said that we were very poor; our resources were derived from the scantiest of all supplies; and even these, as the spring drew nigh, showed signs of failure. If I at times regarded our future with gloomy anticipations, my companion never did so. On the contrary, his hopeful spirit seemed to rise under the pressure of each new sufferance, and he constantly cheered me by saying, “The tide must ebb soon.” It is true, this confidence did not prevent him suggesting various means by which we might eke out a livelihood.

“It is the same old story over again,” said he to me one day, as we sat at our meal of dry bread and water. “Archimedes could have moved the world had he had a support whereon to station his lever, and so with me; I could at» this very moment rise to wealth and power, could I but find a similar appliance. There is a million to be made on the Bourse of Amsterdam any morning, if one only could pay for a courier who should arrive at speed from the Danube with the news of a defeat of the French army. A lighted tar-barrel in the midst of the English fleet at Spithead would n't cost a deal of money, and yet might do great things towards changing the fortunes of mankind. And even here,” added he, taking a letter from his pocket, “even here are the means of wealth and fortune to both of us, if I could rely on you for the requisite energy and courage to play your part.”

“I have at least had courage to share your fortunes,” said I, half angrily; “and even that much might exempt me from the reproach of cowardice.”

Not heeding my taunt in the slightest, he resumed his speech with slow and deliberate words:—

“I found this paper last night by a mere accident, when looking over some old letters; but, unfortunately, it is not accompanied by any other document which could aid us, though I have searched closely to discover such.”

So often had it been my fate to hear him hold forth on similar themes—on incidents which lacked but little, the veriest trifle, to lead to fortune—that I confess I paid slight attention to his words, and scarcely heard him as he went on describing how he had chanced upon his present discovery, when he suddenly startled me by saying,—

“And yet, even now, if you were of the stuff to dare it, there is wherewithal in that letter to make you a great man, and both of us rich ones.”

Seeing that he had at least secured my attention, he went on:—

“You remember the first time we ever met, Gervois, and the evening of our arrival at Hamburg. Well, on that same night there occurred to me the thought of making your fortune and my own; and when I shall have explained to you how, you will probably look less incredulous than you now do. You may remember that the first husband of Madame von Geysiger was a rich merchant of Hamburg. Well, there chanced to be in his employment a certain English clerk who conducted all his correspondence with foreign countries,—a man of great business knowledge and strict probity, and by whose means Von Geysiger once escaped the risk of total bankruptcy. Full of gratitude for his services, Von Geysiger wished to give him a partnership in the house; but however flattering the prospect for one of humble means, he positively rejected the offer; and when pressed for his reasons for so doing, at last owned that he could not consistently pledge himself to adhere to the fortunes of his benefactor, since he had in heart devoted his life to another object,—one for which he then only labored to obtain means to prosecute. I do not believe that the secret to which he alluded was divulged at the time, nor even for a long while after, but at length it came out that this poor fellow had no other aim in life than to find out the heir to a certain great estate in England which had lapsed from its rightful owner, and to obtain the document which should establish his claim. To this end he had associated himself with some relative of the missing youth,—a lady of rank, I have heard tell, and of considerable personal attractions, who had braved poverty and hardship of the severest kind in the pursuit of this one object. I do not know where they had not travelled, nor what amount of toil they had not bestowed on this search. Occasionally, allured by some apparent clew, they had visited the most remote parts of the Continent; and at last, acting on some information derived from one of their many agents, they left Europe for America. That the pursuit is still unsuccessful, an advertisement that I saw, a few days back, in a Dutch newspaper, assures me. A large reward is there offered for any one who can give certain information as to the surviving relatives of a French lady,—the name I forget, but which at the time I remembered as one of those connected with this story. And now, to apply the case to yourself, there were so many circumstances of similitude in the fortunes of this youth and your own life that it occurred to me, and not alone to me, but to another, to make you his representative.”

For a moment I scarcely knew whether to be indignant or amused at this shameless avowal; but the absurdity overcame my anger, and I laughed long and heartily at it.

“Laugh if you will, my dear Gervois,” said he; “but you are not the first, nor will you be the last, kite who has roosted in the eagle's nest. Take my word for it, with all the cares and provisions of law, it is seldom enough that the rightful heir sits in the hall of his fathers; and, in the present case, we know that the occupant is a mere pretender; so that your claim, or mine, if you like it, is fully as good as his to be there.”

“You have certainly excited my curiosity on one point,” said I, “and it is to know where the resemblance lies between this gentleman's case and my own; pray tell me that!”

“Easily enough,” said he, “and from the very papers in my hand: a mixed parentage, French and English—a father of one country, a mother of another—a life of scrapes and vicissitudes; but, better than all, a position so isolated that none can claim you. There, my dear Gervois, there is the best feature in the whole case; and if I could only inspire your heart with a dash of the ambitious daring that fills my own, it is not on a straw bed nor a starvation diet we should speculate over the future before us. Just fancy, if you can, the glorious life of ease and enjoyment that would reward us if we succeed; and as to failure, conjure up, if you are able, anything worse than this;” and as he spoke he made a gesture with his hand towards the wretched furniture of our humble chamber.

“You seem to exclude from your calculation all question of right and wrong,” said I, “of justice or injustice.”

“I have already told you that he who now enjoys this estate is not its real owner. It is, to all purposes, a disputed territory, where the strongest may plant his flag,—yours to-day; another may advance to the conquest to-morrow. I only say that to fellows like us, who, for aught I see, may have to take the high-road for a livelihood, this chance is not to be despised.”

“Then why not yourself attempt it?”

“For two sufficient reasons. I am a Pole, and my nationality can be proved; and, secondly, I am full ten years too old: this youth was born about the year 1782.”

“The very year of my own birth!” said I.

“By Jove, Gervois! everything would seem to aid us. There is but one deficiency,” added he, after a pause, and a look towards me of such significance that I could not misunderstand it.

“I know what you mean,” said I; “the want lies in me,—in my lack of energy and courage. I might, perhaps, give another name to it,” added I, after waiting in vain for some reply on his part, “and speak of reluctance to become a swindler.”

A long silence now ensued between us. Each seemed to feel that another word might act like a spark in a magazine, and produce a fearful explosion; and so we sat, scarcely daring to look each other in the face. As we remained thus, my eyes fell upon the paper in his hand, and read the following words: “Son of Walter Carew, of Castle Carew, and Josephine de Courtois, his wife,” I snatched the document from his fingers, and read on. “The proof of this marriage wanting, but supposed to have been solemnized at or about the year 1780 or '81. No trace of Mademoiselle de Courtois' family obtainable, save her relationship to Count de Gabriac, who died in England three years ago. The youth Jasper Carew served in the Bureau of the Minister of War at Paris in '95, and was afterwards seen in the provinces, supposed to be employed by the Legitimist party as an agent; traced thence to England, and believed to have gone to America, or the West Indies.” Then followed some vague speculations as to where and how this youth was possibly employed, and some equally delusive guesses as to the signs by which he might be recognized.

“Does that interest you, Gervois?” said Ysaffich. “This is the best part of the narrative, to my thinking; read that, and say if your heart does not bound at the very notion of such a prize.”

The paper which he now handed to me was closely and carefully written, and headed, “Descriptive sketch of the lands and estate of the late Walter Carew, Esq., known as the demesne of Castle Carew, in the county of Wicklow, in Ireland.”

“Two thousand seven hundred acres of a park, and a princely mansion!” exclaimed the Count. “An estate of at least twelve thousand pounds a year! Gervois, my boy, why not attempt it?”

“You talk wildly, Ysaffich,” said I, restraining by a great effort the emotions that were almost suffocating me. “Bethink you who I am,—poor, friendless, and unprotected. Take it, even, that I had the most indisputable right to this fortune; assume, if you will, that I am the very person here alluded to,—where is there a single document to prove my claim? Should I not be scouted at the bare mention of such pretensions?”

“That would all depend on the way the affair was managed,” said he. “If these solicitors whose names and addresses I have here, were themselves convinced or even disposed to credit the truth of the tale we should tell them, they would embark in the suit with all their influence and all their wealth. Once engaged in it, self-interest would secure their zealous co-operation. As to documents, proofs, and all that, these things are a material that lawyers know how to supply, or, if need be, explain the absence of. Of this missing youth's story I already know enough for our purpose; and when you have narrated for me your own life, we will arrange the circumstances together, and weave of the two one consistent and plausible tale. Take my word for it, that if we can once succeed in interesting counsel in your behalf, the very novelty of the incident will enlist public sympathy. Jurors are, after all, but representatives of that same passing opinion, and will be well disposed to befriend our cause. I speak as if the matter must come to a head; but it need not go so far. When our plans are laid and all our advances duly prepared, we may condescend to treat with the enemy. Ay, Gervois, we may be inclined to accept a compromise of our claim. These things are done every day. The men who seem to sit in all the security of undisturbed possession are buying off demands here, paying hush-money to this man, and bribery to that.”

“But if the real claimant should appear on the stage—”

“I have reason to believe he is dead these many years,” said he, interrupting; “but were it otherwise, these friends of his are of such a scrupulous temperament, they would not adventure on the suit without such a mass of proof as no concurrence of accidents could possibly accumulate. They have not the nerve to accomplish an undertaking of this kind, where much must be hazarded, and many things done at risk.”

“Which means, in plain words, done fraudulently,” said I, solemnly.

“Let us not fall out about words,” said he, smiling. “When a state issues a paper currency, it waits for the day of prosperity to recall the issue and redeem the debt; and if we live and do well, what shall prevent us making an equally good use of our fortune? But you may leave all this to me; I will undertake every document, from the certificate of your father's marriage to your own baptism; I will legalize you and legitimatize you; you have only to be passive.”

“I half suspect, Count,” said I, laughing, “that if my claim to this estate were a real one, I should not be so sure of your aid and assistance.”

“And you are right there, Gervois. It is in the very daring and danger of this pursuit I feel the pleasure. The game on which I risk nothing has no excitement for me; but here the stake is a heavy one.”

“And how would you proceed?” asked I, not heeding this remark.

“By opening a correspondence with Bickering and Ragge, the lawyers. They have long been in search of the heir, and would be delighted to hear there were any tidings of his existence. My name is already known to them, and I could address them with confidence. They would, of course, require to see you, and either come over here or send for you. In either case you would be preceded by your story; the family parts should be supplied by me; the other details you should fill in at will. All this, however, should be concerted together. The first point is your consent,—your hearty consent; and even that I would not accept, unless ratified by a solemn oath, to persist to the last, and never falter nor give in to the end, whatever it be!”

I at first hesitated, but at last consented to give the required pledge; and though for a while it occurred to me that a frank avowal of my real claim to be the person designated might best suit the object I had in view, I suddenly bethought me that if Ysaffich once believed that he himself was not the prime mover in the scheme, and that I was other than a mere puppet in his hand, he was far more likely to mar than to make our fortune. Intrigue and trick were the very essence of the man's nature; and it was enough that the truthful entered into anything to destroy its whole value or interest in his eyes. That this plot had long been lying in his mind, I had but to remember the night in the garden at Hamburg to be convinced of, and since that time he had never ceased to ruminate upon it. Indeed, he now told me that it constantly occurred to him to fancy that this piece of success was to be a crowning recompense for a long life of reverses and failures.

How gladly did my thoughts turn from him and all his crafty counsels to think of that true friend, poor Raper, and my dear, dear mother, as I used to call her, who had, in the midst of their own hard trials, devoted their best energies to my cause. It is not necessary to say that Raper was the faithful clerk, and Polly the unknown lady who had given the impulse to this search. The papers, of which Ysaffich showed me several, were all in the handwriting of one or other of them; a few of my father's own letters were also in one packet, and though referring to matters far remote from this object, had an indescribable interest for me.

“Seven years ago,” said the Count, “this estate was in the possession of a certain Mr. Curtis, who claimed to be the next of kin of the late owner, and who, I believe, was so, in the failure of this youth's legitimacy. This is now our great fact, since we have already found the individual. Eh, Gervois?” said he, laughing. “Our man is here, and from this hour forth your name is—let me see what it is—ay, here we have it: Jasper Carew, son of Walter Carew and Josephine de Courtois, his wife.”

“Jasper Carew am I from this day, then, and never to be called by any other name,” said I.

“Ay, but you must have your lesson perfect,” said he; “you must not forget the name of your parents.”

“Never fear,” said I; “Walter Carew and Josephine de Courtois are easily remembered.”

“All correct,” said he, well pleased at my accuracy. “Now, as to family history, this paper will tell you enough. It is drawn out by Mr. Raper, and is minutely exact. There is not a strong point of the case omitted, nor a weak one forgotten. Read it over carefully; mark the points in which you trace resemblance to your own life; study well where any divergence or difficulty may occur; and, lastly, draw up a brief memoir in the character of Jasper Carew, with all your recollections of childhood: for remember that up to the age of twelve or thirteen, if not later, you were domesticated with this Countess de Gabriac, and educated by Raper. After that you are free to follow out what fancy, or reality, if you like it better, may suggest. When you have drawn up everything, with all the consistency and plausibility you can, avoid none of the real difficulties, but rather show yourself fully aware of them, and also of all their importance. Let the task of having persuaded you to address Messrs. Bickering and Ragge be left to me; I have already held correspondence with them, and on this very subject. I give you three days to do this; meanwhile I start at once for Brussels, where I can consult a lawyer, an old friend of mine, as to our first steps in the campaign.”

The man who stoops once to a minute dissection of his life must perforce steel his heart against many a sense of shame, since even in the story of the good and the upright are passages of dark omen, moments when the bad has triumphed, and seasons when the true has been postponed by the false. It is not now that, having revealed so much as I have done of my secret history, I dare make any pretensions to superior honesty, or affect to be one of the “unblemished few.” Still, I have a craving desire not to be judged over harshly,—a painful feeling of anxiety that no evil construction should be put upon those actions of my life other than what they absolutely merit. My “over-reachings” have been many,—my “shortcomings” still more; but, with all their weight and gravity before me, I still entreat a merciful judgment, and hope that if the sentence be “guilty,” there will be at least the alleviation of “attenuating circumstances.”

I am now an old man; the world has no more any bribe to my ambition than have I within me the energy to attempt it. The friendships that warmed up the late autumn of my life are departed; they lie in the churchyard, and none have ever replaced them. In these confessions, therefore, humiliating as they often would seem, there are none to suffer pain. I make them at the cost of my own feelings alone, and in some sense I do so as an act of atonement and reparation to a world that, with some hard lessons, has still treated me with kindness, and to whom, with the tremulous fingers of old age, I write myself most grateful.

If they who read this story suppose that I should not have hesitated to propose myself a claimant for an estate to which I had no right, I have no better answer to give them than a mere denial, and even that uttered in all humility, since it comes from one whose good name has been impeached, and whose good faith may be questioned. Still do I repeat it, this was an act I could not have done. There is a kind of half-way rectitude in the world which never scruples at the means of any success so long as it injures no other, but which recoils from the thought of any advantage obtained at another's cost and detriment. Such I suspect to have been mine. At least, I can declare with truth that I am not conscious of an incident in my life which will bear the opposite construction.

But to what end should I endeavor to defend my motives, since my actions are already before the world, and each will read them by the light his own conscience lends? Let me rather hasten to complete a task which, since it has involved an apology, has become almost painful to pursue.

So successfully had Ysaffich employed his time at Brussels that a well-known notary there had already consented to aid our plans and furnish means for our journey to England. I cannot go over with minuteness details in which the deceptions I had to concur in still revive my shame. I could, it is true, recite the story of my birth and parentage, my early years abroad, and so on, with the conscious force of truth; but there were supplementary evidences required of me with which I could not bring myself to comply. Ysaffich, naturally enough, could not understand the delicacy of scruples which only took alarm by mere caprice, nor could he comprehend why he who was willing to feign a name and falsify a position should hesitate about assuming any circumstances that might be useful to sustain it.

Of course I could not explain this mystery, and was obliged to endure all the sarcastic allusions he vented on the acuteness of my sense of honor and the extreme susceptibility of my notions of right. It chanced, however, that this very repugnance on my part should prove more favorable for us than all his most artful devices, and indeed it shows with clearness how often the superadded efforts fraud contributes to insure success are as frequently the very sources of its failure,—just as we see in darker crimes how the over care and caution of the murderer have been the clew that has elicited the murder.

Ysaffich wished me to detail, amongst the memories of my childhood, the having heard often of the great estate and vast fortune to which I was entitled. He wanted me to supply, as it were from memory, many links of the chain of evidence that seemed deficient,—vague recollections of having heard this, that, and the other; but, with an obstinacy that to him appeared incomprehensible, I held to my own unadorned tale, and would not add a word beyond my own conviction.

Mr. Ragge, the solicitor by whom the case was undertaken, seemed most favorably impressed by this reserve on my part; and, far from being discouraged by my ignorance of certain points, appeared, on the contrary, only the more satisfied as to the genuineness of my story. Over and over have I felt in my conversations with him how impossible it would have been for me to practise any deception successfully with him. Without any semblance of cross-examination, he still contrived to bring me again and again over the same ground, viewing the same statement from different sides, and trying to discover a discrepancy in my narrative. When at length assured, to all appearance, at least, of my being the person I claimed to be, he drew up a statement of my case for counsel, and a day was named when I should be personally examined by a distinguished member of the bar. I cannot even now recall that interview without a thrill of emotion. My sense of hope, dashed as it was by a conscious feeling that I was, in some sort, practising a deception,—for in all my compact with Ysaffich our attempt was purely a fraud,—I entered the chamber with a faltering step and a failing heart Far, however, from questioning and cross-questioning, like the solicitor, the lawyer suffered me to tell my story without even so much as a word of interruption. I had, I ought to remark, divested my tale of many of the incidents which really befell me. I made my life one of commonplace events and unexciting adventures, in which poverty occupied the prominent place. I as cautiously abstained from all mention of the distinguished persons with whom accident had brought me into contact, since any allusion to them would have compromised the part I Was obliged to play with Ysaffich. When asked what documents or written evidence I had to adduce in support of my pretensions, and I had confessed to possessing none, the old lawyer leaned back in his chair, and, closing his eyes, seemed lost in thought.

“At the best,” said he, at length, “it is a case for a compromise. There is really so little to go upon, I can advise nothing better.”

I need not go into the discussion that ensued further than to say the weight of argument was on the side of those who counselled the compromise, and, however little disposed to yield, I felt myself overborne by numbers, and compelled to give in.

Weeks, even months, were now passed without any apparent progress in our suit. The party in possession of the estate treated our first advances with the most undisguised contempt, and even met our proposals with menaces of legal vengeance. Undeterred by these signs of strength, Mr. Ragge persevered in his search for evidence, sent his emissaries hither and thither, and entered upon the case with all the warm zeal of a devoted friend. It was at length thought that a visit to Ireland might possibly elicit some information on certain points, and thither we went together.

It was little more than a quarter of a century since the date of my father's death, and yet such had been the changes in the condition of Ireland, and so great the social revolution accomplished there, that men talked of the bygone period like some long-past history. The days of the parliaments, and the men who figured in them, were alike for* gotten; and although there were many who had known my father well, all memory, not to speak of affection for him, had lapsed from their natures.

Crowther and Fagan were dead, but Joe Curtis was alive, and continued to live in Castle Carew in a style of riotous debauchery that scandalized the whole country. In fact, the mere mention of his name was sufficient to elicit the most disgraceful anecdotes of his habits. Unknown to and unrecognized by his equals, this old man had condescended to form intimacy with all that Dublin contained of the profligate and abandoned; and, surrounded by men and women of this class, his days and nights were one continued orgie. Although the estate was a large one, it was rumored that he was deeply in debt, and only obtained means for this wasteful existence by loans on ruinous conditions. In vain Mr. Ragge made inquiries for some one who might possess his confidence and have the legal direction of his affairs. He had changed from this man to that so often that it was scarcely possible to discover in what quarter the property was managed. Without any settled plan of procedure, but half to watch the eventualities that might arise, it was determined that I should proceed to Castle Carew and present myself as the son and the heir of the last owner.

If there were circumstances attendant on this step which I by no means fancied, there was one gratification that more than atoned for them all: I should see the ancient home of my family; the halls wherein my father's noble hospitalities had been practised; the chamber which had been my dear mother's! I own that the sight of the princely domain and all its attendant wealth, contrasting with my own poverty, served to extinguish within me the last spark of hope. How could I possibly dream of success against the power of such adjuncts as these? Were my cause fortified by every document and evidence, how little would it avail against the might of vast wealth and resources! Curtis would laugh my pretensions to scorn, if not treat them with greater violence; and with such thoughts I found myself one bright morning of June slowly traversing the approach to the Castle. The sight of the dense dark woods, the swelling lawns dotted over with grazing cattle, the distant corn-fields waving beneath a summer wind, and the tall towers of the Castle itself far off above the trees, all filled my heart with a strange chaos, in which hope, and fear, and proud ambition, and the very humblest terrors were all commingled. Although my plan of procedure had been carefully sketched out for me by Ragge, so confused were all my thoughts that I forgot everything. I could not even bethink me in what character and with what pretension I was to present myself, and I was actually at the very entrance of the Castle, still trying to remember the part I was to play.

There before me rose the grand and massive edifice, to erect which had been one of the chief elements of my poor father's ruin. Though far from architecturally correct in its details, the effect of the whole was singularly fine. Between two square towers of great size extended a long facade, in which, from the ornamented style of architraves and brackets, it was easy to see the chief suite of apartments lay; and in front of this the ground had been artificially terraced, and gardens formed in the Italian taste, the entire being defended by a deep fosse in front, and crossed by a drawbridge. Neglect and dilapidation had, however, disfigured all these; the terraces were broken down by the cattle, the cordage of the bridge hung in fragments in the wind, and even the stained-glass windows were smashed, and their places filled by paper or wooden substitutes. As I came nearer, these signs of ruin and devastation were still more apparent. The marble statues were fractured, and fissured by bullet-marks; the pastures were cut up by horses' feet; and even fragments of furniture were strewn about, as though thrown from the windows in some paroxysm of passionate debauchery. The door of the mansion was open, and evidences of even greater decay presented themselves within. Massive cornices of carved oak hung broken and shattered from the walls; richly cut wainscotings were split and fissured; a huge marble table of immense thickness was smashed through the centre, and the fragments still lay scattered on the floor where they had fallen. As I stood, in mournful mood, gazing on this desecration of what once had been a noble and costly estate, an ill-dressed, slatternly woman-servant chanced to cross the hall, and stopped with some astonishment to stare at me. To my inquiry if I could see Mr. Curtis, she replied by a burst of laughter too natural to be deemed offensive.

“By coorse you couldn't,” said she, at length; “sure there's nobody stirrin', nor won't be these two hours.”

“At what time, then, might I hope to be more fortunate?”

If I came about three or four in the afternoon, when the gentlemen were at breakfast, I might see Mr. Archy,—Archy M'Clean.

This gentleman was, as she told me, the nephew of Mr. Curtis, and his reputed heir.

Having informed her that I was a stranger in Ireland, and come from a long distance off to pay this visit, she good-naturedly suffered me to enter the house and rest myself in a small and meanly furnished chamber adjoining the hall. If I could but recall the sensations which passed through my mind as I sat in that solitary room, I could give a more correct picture of my nature than by all I have narrated of my actual life. Hour after hour glided by at first, in all the stillness of midnight; but gradually a faint noise would be heard afar off, and now and again a voice would echo through the long corridors, the very accents of which seemed to bring up thoughts of savage revelry and debauch. It had been decided by my lawyers that I should present myself to Curtis, without any previous notification of my identity or my claim; that, in fact, not to prejudice my chances of success by any written application for an audience, I should contrive to see him without his having expected me; and thus derive whatever advantage might accrue from any admissions his surprise should betray him into. I had been drilled into my part by repeated lessons. I was instructed as to every word I was to utter, and every phrase I was to use; but now that the moment to employ these arts drew nigh, I had utterly forgotten them all. The one absorbing thought: that beneath the very roof under which I now stood, my father and mother had lived; that these walls were their own home; that within them had been passed the short life they had shared together,—overcame me so completely that I lost all consciousness about myself and my object there.

At length the loud tones of many voices aroused me from my half stupor, and on drawing nigh the door I perceived a number of servants, ill-dressed and disorderly looking, carrying hurriedly across the hall the materials for a breakfast. I addressed myself to one of these, with a request to know when and how I could see Mr. Curtis. A bold stare and a rude burst of laughter was, however, the only reply he made me. I tried another, who did not even vouchsafe to hear more than half my question, when he passed on.

“Is it possible,” said I, indignantly, “that none of you will take a message for your master?”

“Begad, we have so many masters,” said one, jocosely, “it's hard to say where we ought to deliver it;” and the speech was received with a roar of approving laughter.

“It is Mr. Curtis I desire to see,” said I.

“It's four hours too early, then,” said the same speaker. “Old Joe won't be stirring till nigh eight o'clock. If Mr. Archy would do, he's in the stables, and it's the best time to talk to him.”

“And if it's the master you want,” chimed in another, “he 's your man.”

“Lead me to him, then,” said I, resolving at least to see the person who claimed to be supreme in this strange household. Traversing a number of passages and dirty, ill-kept rooms, we descended by a small stone stair into an ample courtyard, two sides of which were occupied by ranges of stables. The spacious character of the building and the costly style of the arrangements were evident at a glance; and even a glance was all that I had time for, when my guide, whispering, “There is Mr. Archy,” hurriedly withdrew and left me. The person indicated was standing as if to examine a young horse which had met with some accident, for the animal could scarcely move, and with the greatest difficulty could bring up his hind legs.

I had time to observe him; and certainly, though by no means deficient as regarded good features, I had rarely seen anything so repulsive as the expression of his face. Coarsely sensual and brutal, they were rendered worse by habits of dissipation and debauch; and in the filmy eye and the tremulous lip might be read the signs of habitual drunkenness. In figure he was large and most powerfully built, and if not over-fleshy, must have been of great muscular strength.

“Shoot him, Ned,” he cried, after a few minutes of close scrutiny; “he's as great a cripple as old Joe himself.”

“I suppose, your honor,” said the groom, “there's nothing else to be done, it 's in the back it is.”

“I don't care a curse where it is,” said the other, savagely; “I only know when a horse can't go. You can put a bullet in him, and more's the pity all other useless animals are not as easily disposed of.—And who is our friend here?” added he, turning and approaching where I stood.

I briefly said that I was a stranger desirous of seeing and speaking with Mr. Curtis; that my business was one of importance not less to myself than to him; and that I would feel obliged if he could procure me the opportunity I sought for.

“If you talk of business, and important business,” said he, sternly, “you ought to know, if you haven't heard it already, that the man you want to discuss it with is upwards of a hundred years of age; that he is a doting idiot; and that, for many a day, the only one who has given any orders here now stands before you.”

“In that case,” said I, courteously, “I am equally prepared to address myself to him. Will you kindly accord me an interview?”

“Are you a dun?” said he, rudely.

“No,” said I, smiling at the abruptness of the demand.

“Are you a tenant in arrear of his rent? or wanting an abatement?”

“Neither one nor the other.”

“Are you sent by a friend with a hostile message?”

“Not even that,” said I, with impassive gravity.

“Then, what the devil are you?” said he, rudely; “for I don't recognize you as one of my friends or acquaintances.”

I hesitated for a moment what reply I should make to this coarsely uttered speech. Had I reflected a little longer, it is possible that good sense might have prevailed, and taught me how inopportune was the time for such reprisals; but I was stung by an insult offered in presence of many others; and in a tone of angry defiance answered,—

“You may discover to your cost, sir, that my right to be here is somewhat better than your own, and that the day is not very distant when your presence in this domain will be more surely questioned than is mine now. Is that name new to you?” And as I spoke I handed him my card, whereupon, with my name, the ancient arms of my family were also engraved. A livid paleness suddenly spread over his features as he read the words, and then as quickly his face became purple red.

“Do you mean,” said he, in a voice guttural with passion, “do you mean to impose upon a man of my stamp with such stupid balderdash as that? And do you fancy that such a paltry attempt at a cheat will avail you here? Now, I'll show you how we treat such pretensions without any help from lawyers. Garvey,” cried he, addressing one of the grooms who stood by, laughing heartily at his master's wit, “Garvey, go in and rouse the gentlemen; tell them to dress quickly and come downstairs; for I 've got sport for them. And you, Mick, saddle Ranty for me, and get out the dogs. Now, Mr. Carew, I like fair play, and so I'll give you fifteen minutes law. Take the shortest cut you can out of these grounds; for, by the rock of Cashel, if you 're caught, I would n't be in your skin for a trifle.”

A regular burst of savage laughter from the bystanders met this brutal speech, and the men scattered in all directions to obey the orders, while I, overwhelmed with passion, stood motionless in the now deserted yard. M'Clean himself had entered the house, and it was only when a signal from one of the grooms attracted my notice that I remarked his absence.

“This way—this way, sir, and don't lose a second,” said the man; “take that path outside the garden wall, and cross the nursery beyond it. If you don't make haste, it's all over with you.”

“He would n't dare—”

“Would n't he?” said he, stopping me. “It's little you know him. The dogs themselves has more mercy than himself when his blood is up.”

“Get the cob ready for me, Joe,” cried a half-dressed man from one of the upper windows of the house, “and a snaffle bridle, remember.”

“Yes, sir,” was the quick reply. “That's ould Delany of Shanestown, and a greater devil there isn't from this to his own place. Blood and ages,” cried he, addressing me, “won't you give yourself a chance? do you want them to tear you to pieces where you stand?”

The man's looks impressed me still more than his words; and though I scarcely believed it possible that my peril could be such as he spoke of, the terrified faces about me struck fear into my heart.

“Would men stand by,” cried I, “and see such an infamous cruelty?”

“Arrah! how could we help it?” said one, stopping me; “and if you won't do anything for yourself, what use can we be?”

“There, be off, you, in the name of Heaven,” said another, pushing me through a small door that opened into a shrubbery; “down that lane as fast as you can, and keep to the right after you pass the fish-pond.”

“It wouldn't be bad to swim to one of the islands!” muttered another; but the counsel was overruled by the rest.

By this time, the contagion of terror had so completely seized upon me that I yielded myself to the impulse of the moment, and, taking the direction they pointed out, I fled along the path beneath the garden wall at full speed.

In the unbroken stillness I could hear nothing but the tramp of my own feet, or the rustling of the branches as I tore through them. I gained at last the open fields, and with one hurried glance behind to see that I was not pursued, still dashed onwards. The young cattle started off at full speed as they saw me, and the snorting horses galloped wildly here and there as I went.

Again, beneath the shade of a wood I would have halted to repose myself, but suddenly a sound came floating along the air, which swelled louder and louder, till I could recognize in it the deep, hoarse bay of dogs, as in wild chorus they yelped together; and high above all could be heard the more savage notes of men's voices cheering them on and encouraging them. With the mad speed of terror, I now fled onward; the very air around me seeming to resound with the dreadful cries of my pursuers. Now tumbling headlong over the tangled roots, now dashing recklessly forward through stony watercourses or fissured crevices of ground, I ran with mad impulse, heedless of all peril but one. At some moments the deafening sounds of the wild pack seemed close about me; at others, all was still as the grave around.

I had forgotten every direction the men had given me, and only thought of pressing onward without any thought of whither. At last I came to a rapid but narrow river, with steep and rugged banks at either side. To place this between myself and my pursuers seemed the best chance of escape, and without a second's hesitation I dashed into the stream. Far stronger than I had supposed, the current bore me down a considerable distance, and it was not till after a long and tremendous effort that I gained the bank. Just as I had reached it, the wild cry of the dogs again met my ears; and, faint and dripping as I was, once more I took to speed.

Through dark woods and waving plains of tall grass, over deep tillage ground and through the yellow corn, I fled like one bereft of reason,—the terror of a horrible and inglorious death urging me on to efforts that my strength seemed incapable of making. Cut and bleeding in many places, my limbs were at last yielding to fatigue, when I saw at a short distance in front of me a tall but dilapidated stone wall. With one last effort I reached this, and, climbing by the crevices, gained the top. But scarcely had I gained it when my head reeled, my senses left me, and, overcome by sickness and exhaustion, I fell headlong to the ground beneath.

It was already evening when I came to myself, and still lay there stunned, but uninjured. A wild plain, studded over with yellow furze bushes, lay in front, and beyond in the distance I could see the straggling huts of a small village. It was a wild and dreary scene; but the soft light of a summer's evening beamed calmly over it, and the silence was unbroken around. With an effort, I arose, and, though weak and sorely bruised, found that I could walk. My faculties were yet so confused that of the late events I could remember but little with any distinctness. At times I fancied I had been actually torn and worried by savage dogs; and then I would believe that the whole was but a wild and feverish dream, brought on by intense anxiety and care. My tattered and ragged clothes, clotted over with blood, confused, but did not aid, my memory; and thus struggling with my thoughts, I wandered along, and, as night was falling, reached the little village of Shanestown. Directing my steps towards a cabin where I perceived a light, I discovered that it was the alehouse of the village. Two or three country people were sitting smoking on a bench before the door, who arose as I came forward, half in curiosity, half in respect; and as I was asking them in what quarter I might find a lodging for the night, the landlord came out. No sooner did his eyes fall on me than he started back in seeming terror, and, after a pause of a few seconds, cried out,—

“Molly! Molly! come here quick! Who's that standing there?” said he, as he pointed with his finger towards me.

“The heavens be about us! but it's Mr. Walter Carew himself,” said the woman, crossing herself.

This sudden recognition of my resemblance to my father so overcame me that though I struggled hard for speech, the words would not come; and I stood pale and gasping before them.

“For Heaven's sake, speak!” cried the man, in terror.

I heard no more; faint, agitated, and exhausted, I tottered towards the bank, and swooned away.