“What a mail-bag!” cried Nelly, as she threw several letters on the breakfast-table; the same breakfast-table being laid under a spreading vine, all draped and festooned with a gorgeous clematis.

“I declare,” said Augustus, “I'd rather look out yonder, over the blue gulf of Cattaro, than see all the post could bring me.”

“This is for you,” said Nelly, handing a letter to L'Estrange.

He reddened as he took it; not that he knew either the writing or the seal, but that terrible consciousness which besets the poor man in life leads him always to regard the unknown as pregnant with misfortune: and so he pocketed his letter, to read it when alone and unobserved.

“Here's Cutbill again. I don't think I care for more Cutbill,” said Bramleigh; “and here's Sedley; Sedley will keep. This is from Marion.”

“Oh, let us hear Marion by all means,” said Nelly. “May I read her, Gusty?” He nodded, and she broke the envelope. “Ten lines and a postscript. She's positively expansive this time:—

“'Victoria, Naples. “'My dear Gusty,—Our discreet and delicate stepmother has written to ask me to intercede with you to permit M. Pracontal to pull down part of the house at Castello, to search for some family papers. I have replied that her demand is both impracticable and indecent. Be sure that you make a like answer if she addresses you personally. We mean to leave this soon; but are not yet certain in what direction. We have been shamefully treated, after having brought this troublesome and difficult negotiation to a successful end. We shall withdraw our proxy. “'Yours ever, in much affection, “'Marion Culduff.

“'P. S.—You have heard, I suppose, that Culduff has presented L'Estrange to a living. It's not in a hunting county, so that he will not be exposed to temptation; nor are there any idle young men, and Julia may also enjoy security. Do you know where they are?'”

They laughed long and heartily over this postscript. Indeed, it amused them to such a degree that they forgot all the preceding part of the letter. As to the fact of the presentation, none believed it. Read by the light of Cutbill's former letter, it was plain enough that it was only one of those pious frauds which diplomacy deals in as largely as Popery. Marion, they were sure, supposed she was recording a fact; but her comments on the fact were what amused them most.

“I wonder am I a flirt?” said Julia, gravely.

“I wonder am I a vicar?” said George; and once more the laughter broke out fresh and hearty.

“Let us have Cutbill now, Nelly. It will be in a different strain. He 's lengthy, too. He not only writes on four, but six sides of note paper this time.”

“'Dear Bramleigh,—You will be astonished to hear that I travelled back to England with Count Pracontal or Pracontal de Bramleigh, or whatever his name be—a right good fellow, frank, straightforward, and, so far as I see, honest. We hit it off wonderfully together, and became such good friends that I took him down to my little crib at Bayswater,—an attention, I suspect, not ill timed, as he does not seem flush of money. He told me the whole story of his claim, and the way he came first to know that he had a claim. It was all discovered by a book, a sort of manuscript journal of his great grandfather's, every entry of which he, Pracontal, believes to be true as the Bible. He does not remember ever to have seen his father, though he may have done so before he was put to the Naval School at Genoa. Of his mother, he knows nothing. From all I have seen of him, I 'd say that you and he have only to meet to become warm and attached friends; and it's a thousand pities you should leave to law and lawyers what a little forbearance, and a little patience, and a disposition to behave generously on each side might have settled at once and forever.

“'In this journal that I mentioned there were two pages gummed together, by accident or design, and on one of these was a sketch of a female figure in a great wreath of flowers, standing on a sort of pedestal, on which was written,—“Behind this stone I have deposited books or documents.” I 'm not sure of the exact words, for they were in Italian, and it was all I could do to master the meaning of the inscription. Now, Pracontal was so convinced that these papers have some great bearing on his claim, that he asked me to write to you to beg permission to make a search for them under the painting at Castello, of which this rough sketch is evidently a study. I own to you I feel little of that confidence that he reposes in this matter. I do not believe in the existence of the papers, nor see how, if there were any, that they could be of consequence. But his mind was so full of it, and he was so persistent in saying, “If I thought this old journal could mislead me, I 'd cease to believe my right to be as good as I now regard it,” that I thought I could not do better, in your interest, than to take him with me to Sedley's, to see what that shrewd old fox would say to him. P. agreed at once to go; and, what pleased me much, never thought of communicating with his lawyer nor asking his advice on the step.

“'Though I took the precaution to call on Sedley, and tell him what sort of man P. was, and how prudent it would be to hear him with a show of frankness and cordiality, that hard old dog was as stern and as unbending as if he was dealing with a housebreaker. He said he had no instructions from you to make this concession; that, though he himself attached not the slightest importance to any paper that might be found, were he to be consulted, he would unquestionably refuse this permission; that Mr. Bramleigh knew his rights too well to be disposed to encourage persons in frivolous litigation; and that the coming trial would scatter these absurd pretensions to the winds, and convince M. Pracontal and his friends that it would be better to address himself seriously to the business of life than pass his existence in prosecuting a hopeless and impossible claim.

“'I was much provoked at the sort of lecturing tone the old man assumed, and struck with astonishment at the good temper and good breeding with which the other took it. Only once he showed a slight touch of resentment, when he said, “Have a care, sir, that, while disparaging my pretensions, you suffer nothing to escape you that shall reflect on the honor of those who belong to me. I will overlook everything that relates to me. I will pardon nothing that insults their memory.” This finished the interview, and we took our leave. “We have not gained much by this step,” said Pracontal, laughing, as we left the house. “Will you now consent to write to Mr. Bramleigh, for I don't believe he would refuse my request?” I told him I would take a night to think over it, and on the same evening came a telegram from Ireland to say that some strange discoveries were just being made in the Lisconnor mine; that a most valuable “lode” had been artificially closed up, and that a great fraud had been practised to depreciate the value of the mine, and throw it into the market as a damaged concern, while its real worth was considerable. They desired me to go over at once and report, and Pracontal, knowing that I should be only a few miles from Bishop's Folly, to which he clings with an attachment almost incredible, determined to accompany me.

“'I have no means of even guessing how long I may be detained in Ireland—possibly some weeks; at all events let me have a line to say you will give me this permission. I say, “give me” because I shall strictly confine the investigation to the limits I myself think requisite, and in reality use the search as one means of testing what importance may attach to this journal, on which Pracontal relies so implicitly; and in the event of the failure—that I foresee and would risk a bet upon—I would employ the disappointment as a useful agent in dissuading Pracontal from farther pursuit.

“'I strongly urge you, therefore, not to withhold this permission. It seems rash to say that a man ought to furnish his antagonist with a weapon to fight him; but you have always declared you want nothing but an honest, fair contest, wherein the best man should win. You have also said to me that you often doubted your own actual sincerity. You can test it now, and by a touchstone that cannot deceive. If you say to Pracontal, “There's the key, go in freely; there is nothing to hide—nothing to fear,” you will do more to strengthen the ground you stand on than by all the eloquence of your lawyer; and if I know anything of this Frenchman, he is not the man to make an ill requital to such a generous confidence. Whatever you decide on, reply at once. I have no time for more, but will take my letter with me and add a line when I reach Ireland.

“'Liscownor, Friday Night

“'They were quite right; there was a most audacious fraud concocted, and a few days will enable me to expose it thoroughly. I 'm glad Lord Culduff had nothing to say to it, but more for your sake than his. The L'Estranges are safe; they'll have every shilling of their money, and with a premium, too.'”

Nelly laid down the letter and looked over to where George and his sister sat, still and motionless. It was a moment of deep feeling and intense relief, but none could utter a word. At last Julia said,—

“What a deal of kindness there is in that man, and how hard we felt it to believe it, just because he was vulgar. I declare I believe we must be more vulgar still to attach so much to form and so little to fact.”

“There is but one line more,” said Nelly, turning over the page.

“'Pracontal has lost all his spirits. He has been over to see a place belonging to a Mr. Longworth here, and has come back so sad and depressed as though the visit had renewed some great sorrow. We have not gone to Bishop's Folly yet, but mean to drive over there to-morrow. Once more, write to me.

“'Yours ever,

“'T. Cutbill.'”

“I shall not give this permission,” said Bramleigh, thoughtfully. “Sedley's opinion is decidedly adverse, and I shall abide by it.”

Now, though he said these words with an air of apparent determination, he spoke in reality to provoke discussion and hear what others might say. None, however, spoke, and he waited some minutes.

“I wish you would say if you agree with me,” cried he at last.

“I suspect very few would give the permission,” said Julia, “but that you are one of that few I believe also.”

“Yes, Gusty,” said Nelly. “Refuse it, and what becomes of that fair spirit in which you have so often said you desired to meet this issue?”

“What does George say?” asked Bramleigh. “Let's hear the Church.”

“Well,” said L'Estrange, in that hesitating, uncertain way he usually spoke in, “if a man were to say to me, 'I think I gave you a sovereign too much in change just now. Will you search your purse, and see if I'm not right?' I suppose I'd do so.”

“And of course you mean that if the restitution rose to giving back some thousands a year, it would be all the same?” said Julia.

“It would be harder to do, perhaps—of course; I mean—but I hope I could do it.”

“And I,” said Bramleigh, in a tone that vibrated with feeling, “I hoped a few days back that no test to my honesty or my sincerity would have been too much for me—that all I asked or cared for was that the truth should prevail—I find myself now prevaricating with myself, hair-splitting, and asking have I a right to do this, that, or t'other? I declare to heaven, when a man takes refuge in that self-put question, 'Have I the right to do something that inclination tells me not to do?' he is nearer a contemptible action than he knows of. And is there not one here will say that I ought, or ought not, to refuse this request?”

“I do not suppose such a request was ever made before,” said L'Estrange. “There lies the real difficulty of deciding what one should do.”

“Here's a note from Mr. Sedley,” cried Nelly. “Is it not possible that it may contain something that will guide us?”

“By all means read Sedley,” said Bramleigh. And she opened and read:—

“'Dear Sir,—

“'A Mr. Cutbill presented himself to me here last week, alleging he was an old and intimate friend of yours, and showing unquestionable signs of being well acquainted with your affairs. He was accompanied by M. Pracontal, and came to request permission to make searches at Castello for certain documents which he declared to be of great importance to the establishment of his claim. I will not stop to say what I thought, or indeed said, of such a proposal, exceeding in effrontery anything I had ever listened to.

“'Of course I not only refused this permission, but declared I would immediately write to you, imploring you, on no account or through any persuasion, to yield to it.

“'They left me, and apparently so disconcerted and dissuaded by my reception that I did not believe it necessary to address you on the subject. To my amazement, however, I learn from Kelson this morning that they actually did gain entrance to the house, and, by means which I have not yet ascertained, prosecuted the search they desired, and actually discovered the church registers of Portshandon, in one page of which is the entry of the marriage of Montague Bramleigh and Enrichetta Lami, with the name of the officiating clergyman and the attendant witnesses. Kelson forwards me a copy of this, while inviting me to inspect the original. My first step, however, has been to take measures to proceed against these persons for robbery; and I have sent over one of my clerks to Ireland to obtain due information as to the events that occurred, and to institute proceedings immediately. I do not believe that they committed a burglary, but it was a felonious entry all the same.

“'The important fact, however, lies in this act of registration, which, however fraudulently obtained, will be formidable evidence on a trial. You are certainly not happy in your choice of friends, if this Mr. Cutbill be one of them; but I hope no false sentiment will induce you to step between this man and his just punishment. He has done you an irreparable mischief, and by means the most shameful and inexcusable. I call the mischief irreparable, since, looking to the line of argument adopted by our leading counsel on the last trial, the case chiefly turned on the discredit that attached to this act of marriage. I cannot therefore exaggerate the mischief this discovery has brought us. You must come over at once. The delay incurred by letter-writing, and the impossibility of profiting by any new turn events may take, renders your presence here essential, and without it I declare I cannot accept any further responsibility in this case.

“'A very flippant note from Mr. Cutbill has just reached me. He narrates the fact of the discovered books, and says, “It is not too late for B. to make terms. Send for him at once, and say that Count P. has no desire to push him to the wall.” It is very hard to stomach this man's impertinence, but I hesitate now as to what course to take regarding him. Let me hear by telegraph that you are coming over: for I repeat that I will not engage myself to assume the full responsibility of the case, or take any decisive step without your sanction.'

“What could Cutbill mean by such conduct?” cried Nelly. “Do you understand it at all, Gusty?” Bramleigh merely shook his head in token of negative.

“It all came of the man's meddlesome disposition,” said Julia.” The mischievous people of the world are not the malevolent—they only do harm with an object: but the meddling creatures are at it day and night, scattering seeds of trouble out of very idleness.”

“Ju 's right,” said George; but in such a tone of habitual approval that set all the rest laughing.

“I need not discuss the question of permitting the search,” said Bramleigh; “these gentlemen have saved me that. The only point now open is, shall I go over to England or not?”

“Go by all means,” said Julia, eagerly. “Mr. Sedley's advice cannot be gainsaid.”

“But it seems to me our case is lost,” said he, as his eyes turned to Nelly, whose face expressed deep sorrow.

“I fear so,” said she, in a faint whisper.

“Then why ask me to leave this, and throw myself into a hopeless contest? Why am I, to quit this spot, where I have found peace and contentment, to encounter the struggle that, even with all my conviction of failure, will still move me to hope and expectancy?”

“Just because a brave soldier fights even after defeat seems certain,” said Julia. “More than one battle has been won from those who had already despatched news of their victory.”

“You may laugh at me, if you like,” said L'Estrange, “but Julia is right there.” And they did laugh, and the laughter was so far good that it relieved the terrible tension of their nerves, and rallied them back to ease and quietude.

“I see,” said Bramleigh, “that you all think I ought to go over to England; and though none of you can know what it will cost me in feeling, I will go.”

“There's a messenger from the PodestÀ of Cattaro waiting all this time, Gusty, to know about this English sailor they have arrested. The authorities desire to learn if you will take him off their hands.”

“George is my vice-consul. He shall deal with him,” said Bramleigh, laughing, “for as the steamer touches at two o'clock, I shall be run sharp to catch her. If any one will help me to pack, I 'll be more than grateful.”

“We'll do it in a committee of the whole house,” said Julia, “for when a man's trunk is once corded he never goes back of his journey.”