“And here is the letter, Julia,” said L'Estrange, as they sat at tea together that same evening. “Here is the letter; and if I were as clever a casuist as Colonel Bramleigh thought me, I should perhaps know whether I have the right to read it or not.”

“Once I have begun to discuss such a point, I distrust my judgment; but when I pronounce promptly, suddenly, out of mere woman's instinct, I have great faith in myself.”

“And how does your woman's instinct incline here?”

“Not to read it. It may or may not have been the writer's intention to have sealed it; the omission was possibly a mere accident. At all events, to have shown you the contents would have been a courtesy at the writer's option. He was not so inclined—”

“Stop a bit, Julia,” cried he, laughing. “Here you are arguing the case, after having given me the instinctive impulse that would not wait for logic. Now, I'll not stand 'floggee and preachee' too.”

“Don't you see, sir,” said she, with a mock air of being offended, “that the very essence of this female instinct is its being the perception of an inspired process of reasoning, an instinctive sense of right, that did not require a mental effort to arrive at?”

“And this instinctive sense of right says, Don't read?”

“Exactly so.”

“Well, I don't agree with you,” said he, with a sigh. “I don't know, and I want to know, in what light Colonel Bramleigh puts me forward. Am I a friend? am I a dependent? am I a man worth taking some trouble about? or am I merely, as I overheard him saying to Lord Culduff, 'a young fellow my boys are very fond of'?”

“Oh, George. You never told me this.”

“Because it's not safe to tell you anything. You are sure to resent things you ought never to show you have known. I'd lay my life on it that had you heard that speech, you'd have contrived to introduce it into some narrative or some description before a week went over.”

“Well, it's a rule of war, if the enemy fire unfair ammunition, you may send it back to him.”

“And then,” said L'Estrange, reverting to his own channel of thought, “and then it's not impossible that it might be such a letter as I would not have stooped to present.”

“If I were a man, nothing would induce me to accept a letter of introduction to any one,” said she, boldly. “It puts every one concerned in a false position. 'Give the bearer ten pounds' is intelligible; but when the request is, 'Be polite to the gentleman who shall deliver this; invite him to dine; present him to your wife and daughters; give him currency amongst your friends;' all because of certain qualities which have met favor with some one else; why, this subverts every principle of social intercourse; this strikes at the root of all that lends a charm to intimacy. I want to find out the people who suit me in life, just as I want to display the traits that may attract others to me.”

“I'd like to know what's inside this,” said L'Estrange, who only half followed what she was saying.

“Shall I tell you?” said she, gravely.

“Do, if you can.”

“Here it is: 'The bearer of this is a young fellow who has been our parson for some time back, and now wants to be yours at Albano. There's not much harm in him; he is well-born, well-mannered, preaches but twelve minutes, and rides admirably to hounds. Do what you can for him; and believe me yours truly.”

“If I thought—”

“Of course you 'd put it in the fire,” said she, finishing his speech; “and I'd have put it there though it should contain something exactly the reverse of all this.”

“The doctor told me that Bramleigh said something about a reparation that he owed me; and although the phrase, coming from a man in his state, might mean nothing, or next to nothing, it still keeps recurring to my mind, and suggesting an eager desire to know what he could point to.”

“Perhaps his conscience pricked him, George, for not having made more of you while here. I 'd almost say it might with some justice.”

“I think they have shown us great attention—have been most hospitable and courteous to us.”

“I 'm not a fair witness, for I have no sort of gratitude for social civilities. I think it's always the host is the obliged person.”

“I know you do,” said he, smiling.

“Who knows,” said she, warmly, “if he has not found out that the 'young fellow the boys were so fond of' was worthy of favor in higher quarters? Eh, George, might not this give the clew to the reparation he speaks of?”

“I can make nothing of it,” said he, as he tossed the letter on the table with an impatient movement. “I 'll tell you what I 'll do, Julia,” cried he, after a pause. “I'll take the letter over to Castello to-morrow, and ask Augustus if he feels at liberty to read it to me; if he opine not, I 'll get him to seal it then and there.”

“But suppose he consents to read it, and suppose it should contain something, I 'll not say offensive, but something disagreeable, something that you certainly would not wish to have said; will you be satisfied at being the listener while he reads it?”

“I think I 'd rather risk that than bear my present uncertainty.”

“And if you 'll let me, George, I 'll go with you, I 'll loiter about the grounds, and you can tell Nelly where to find me, if she wishes to see me.”

“By the way, she asked me why you had not been to Castello; but my head being very full of other things, I forgot to tell you; and then there was something else I was to say.”

“Try and remember it, George,” said she, coaxingly.

“What was it? Was it?—no—it couldn't have been about Lord Culduff carrying away the doctor to his own room, and having him there full half an hour in consultation before he saw Colonel Bramleigh.”

“Did he do that?”

“Yes. It was some redness, or some heat, or something or other that he remarked about his ears after eating. No, no; it was n't that. I remember all about it now. It was a row that Jack got into with his Admiral; he did n't report himself, or he reported to the wrong man, or he went on board when he ought n't; in fact, he did something irregular, and the Admiral used some very hard language, and Jack rejoined, and the upshot is he's to be brought before a court-martial; at least he fears so.”

“Poor fellow: what is to become of him?”

“Nelly says that there is yet time to apologize; that the Admiral will permit him to retract or recall what he said, and that his brother officers say he ought—some of them at least.”

“And it was this you forgot to tell me?” said she, reproachfully.

“No. It was all in my head, but along with so many things; and then I was so badgered and bullied by the cross-examination they submitted me to; and so anxious and uneasy, that it escaped me till now.”

“Oh, George, let us do a good-natured thing; let us go over and see Nelly; she'll have so many troubles on her heart, she 'll want a word of advice and kindness. Let us walk over there now.”

“It's past ten o'clock, Julia.”

“Yes; but they 're always late at Castello.”

“And raining heavily besides;—listen to that!”

“What do we care for rain? did bad weather ever keep either of us at home when we wished to be abroad?”

“We can go to-morrow. I shall have to go to-morrow about this letter.”

“But if we wait we shall lose a post. Come, George, get your coat and hat, and I 'll be ready in an instant.”

“After all, it will seem so strange in us presenting ourselves at such an hour, and in such a trim. I don't know how we shall do it.”

“Easily enough. I 'll go to Mrs. Eady the housekeeper's room, and you 'll say nothing about me, except to Nelly; and as for yourself, it will be only a very natural anxiety on your part to learn how the Colonel is doing. There, now, don't delay. Let us be off at once.”

“I declare I think it a very mad excursion, and the only thing certain to come of it will be a heavy cold or a fever.”

“And we face the same risks every day for nothing. I'm sure wet weather never kept you from joining the hounds.”

This home-thrust about the very point on which he was then smarting decided the matter, and he arose and left the room without a word.

“Yes,” muttered he, as he mounted the stairs, “there it is! That's the reproach I can never make head against. The moment they say, 'You were out hunting,' I stand convicted at once.”

There was little opportunity for talk as they breasted the beating rain on their way to Castello; great sheets of water came down with a sweeping wind, which at times compelled them to halt and seek shelter ere they could recover breath to go on.

“What a night,” muttered be. “I don't think I was ever out in a worse.”

“Is n't it rare fun, George?” said she, laughingly. “It's as good as swimming in a rough sea.”

“Which I always hated.”

“And which I delighted in! Whatever taxes one's strength to its limits, and exacts all one's courage besides, is the most glorious of excitements. There's a splash; that was hail, George.”

He muttered something that was lost in the noise of the storm; and though from time to time she tried to provoke him to speak, now by some lively taunt, now by some jesting remark on his sullen humor, he maintained his silence till he reached the terrace, when he said,—

“Here we are, and I declare, Julia, I 'd rather go back than go forward.”

“You sha' n't have the choice,” said she, laughing, as she rang the bell. “How is your master, William?” asked she, as the servant admitted them.

“No better, miss; the Dublin doctor's upstairs now in consultation, and I believe there's another to be sent for.”

“Mind that you don't say I 'm here. I 'm going to Mrs. Eady's room to dry my cloak, and I don't wish the young ladies to be disturbed,” said she, passing hastily on to the housekeeper's room, while L'Estrange made his way to the drawing-room. The only person here, however, was Mr. Harding, who, with his hands behind his back and his head bowed forward, was slowly pacing the room in melancholy fashion.

“Brain fever, sir,” muttered he, in reply to the curate's inquiry. “Brain fever, and of a severe kind. Too much application to business—did not give up in time, they say.”

“But he looked so well; seemed always so hearty and so cheerful.”

“Very true, sir, very true; but as you told us on Sunday, in that impressive discourse of yours, we are only whited sepulchres.”

L'Estrange blushed. It was so rare an event for him to be complimented on his talents as a preacher that he half mistrusted the eulogy.

“And what else, indeed, are we?” sighed the little man.

“Here's our dear friend, with all that the world calls prosperity; he has fortune, station, and fine family, and—”

The enumeration of the gifts that made up this lucky man's measure of prosperity was here interrupted by the entrance of Ellen Bramleigh, who came in abruptly and eagerly.

“Where's Julia?” cried she; “my maid told me she was here.”

L'Estrange answered in a low tone. Ellen, in a subdued voice, said,—

“I'll take her up to my room. I have much to say to her. Will you let her remain here to-night?—you can't refuse. It is impossible she could go back in such weather.” And without waiting for his reply, she hurried away.

“I suppose they sent for you, sir?” resumed Harding. “They wished you to see him?” and he made a slight gesture, to point out that he meant the sick man.

“No; I came up to see if I could say a few words to Augustus—on a matter purely my own.”

“Ha! indeed! I 'm afraid you are not likely to have the opportunity. This is a trying moment, sir. Dr. B., though only a country practitioner, is a man of much experience, and he opines that the membranes are affected.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes; he thinks it's the membranes; and he derives his opinion from the nature of the mental disturbance, for there are distinct intervals of perfect sanity—indeed, of great mental power. The Colonel was a remarkable man, Mr. L'Estrange; a very remarkable man.”

“I 've always heard so.”

“Ah, sir, he had great projects—I might call them grand projects, for Ireland, had he been spared to carry them out.”

“Let us still hope that he may.”

“No, no, sir, that is not to be; and if Belton be correct, it is as well, perhaps, it should not be.” Here he touched his forehead with the top of his finger, and gave a glance of most significant meaning.

“Does he apprehend permanent injury to the brain?”

The other pursed his mouth, and shook his head slowly, but did not speak.

“That's very dreadful,” said L'Estrange, sadly.

“Indeed it is, sir; take this from us,” and here he touched his head, “and what are we? What are we better than the beasts of the field? But why do I say this to you, sir? Who knows these things better than yourself?”

The curate was half inclined to smile at the ambiguity of the speech, but he kept his gravity, and nodded assent.

“Nobody had the slightest conception of his wealth,” said Harding, coming up, and actually whispering the words into the other's ear. “We knew all about the estated property; I did at least, I knew every acre of it, and how it was let; but of his money in shares, in foreign securities, on mortgages, and in various investments; what he had out at venture in Assam and Japan, and what he drew twenty-five per cent from in Peru;—of these, sir, none of us had any conception; and would you believe it, Mr. L'Estrange, that he can talk of all these things at some moments as collectedly as if he was in perfect health? He was giving directions to Simcox about his will, and he said, 'Half a sheet of note-paper will do it, Simcox. I 'll make my intentions very clear, and there will be nobody to dispute them. And as to details of what little'—he called it little!—'I possess in the world, I want no notes to aid my memory.' The doctor, however, positively prevented anything being done to-day, and strictly interdicted him from hearing any matters of business whatsoever. And it is strange enough, that if not brought up before him, he will not advert to these topics at all, but continue to wander on about his past life, and whether he had done wisely in this, or that, or the other, mixing very worldly thoughts and motives very oddly at times with those that belong to more serious considerations. Poor Mr. Augustus,” continued he, after a short breathing moment. “He does not know what to do! He was never permitted to take any part in business, and he knows no more of Bramleigh and Underwood than you do. And now he is obliged to open all letters marked immediate or urgent, and to make the best replies he can, to give directions, and to come to decisions, in fact, on things he never so much as heard of. And all this while he is well aware that if his father should recover, he 'll not forgive him the liberty he has taken to open his correspondence. Can you imagine a more difficult or painful situation?”

“I think much of the embarrassment might be diminished, Mr. Harding, by his taking you into his counsels.”

“Ah! and that 's the very thing I'll not suffer him to do. No, no, sir; I know the Colonel too well for that. He may, when he is well and about again, he may forgive his son, his son and heir, for having possessed himself with a knowledge of many important details; but he 'd not forgive the agent, Mr. Harding. I think I can hear the very words he 'd use. He said once on a time to me, 'I want no Grand Vizier, Harding; I 'm Sultan and Grand Vizier too.' So I said to Mr. Augustus, 'I 've no head for business after dinner, and particularly when I have tasted your father's prime Madeira.' And it is true, sir; true as you stand there. The doctor and I had finished the second decanter before we took our coffee.”

L'Estrange now looked the speaker fully in the face; and to his astonishment saw that signs of his having drank freely—which, strangely enough, had hitherto escaped his notice—were now plainly to be seen there.

“No, sir, not a bit tipsy,” said Harding, interpreting his glance; “not even what Mr. Cutbill calls 'tight'! I won't go so far as to say I 'd like to make up a complicated account; but for an off-hand question as to the value of a standing crop, or an allowance for improvements in the case of a tenant at will, I'm as good as ever I felt. What's more, sir, it's seventeen years since I took so much wine before. It was the day I got my appointment to the agency, Mr. L'Estrange. I was weak enough to indulge on that occasion, and the Colonel said to me, 'As much wine as you like, Harding—a pipe of it, if you please; but don't be garrulous.' The word sobered me, sir—sobered me at once. I was offended, I'll not deny it; but I couldn't afford to show that I felt it. I shut up; and from that hour to this I never was 'garrulous' again. Is it boasting to say, sir, that it's not every man who could do as much?”

The curate bowed politely, as if in concurrence.

“You never thought me garrulous, sir?”

“Never, indeed, Mr. Harding.”

“No, sir, it was not the judgment the world passed on me. Men have often said Harding is cautious, Harding is reserved, Harding is guarded in what he says; but none have presumed to say I was garrulous.”

“I must say I think you dwell too much on a mere passing expression. It was not exactly polite; but I am sure it was not intended to convey either a grave censure or a fixed opinion.”

“I hope so; I hope so, with all my heart, sir,” said he, pathetically. But his drooping head and depressed look showed how little of encouragement the speech gave him.

“Mr. Augustus begs you 'll come to him in the library, sir,” said a footman, entering, and to L'Estrange's great relief, coming to his rescue from his tiresome companion.

“I think I 'd not mention the matter now,” said Harding, with a sigh. “They 've trouble and sickness in the house, and the moment would be unfavorable; but you 'll not forget it, sir, you'll not forget that I want that expression recalled, or at least the admission that it was used inadvertently.”

L'Estrange nodded assent, and hurried away to the library.

“The man of all others I wanted to see,” said Augustus, meeting him with an outstretched hand. “What on earth has kept you away from us of late?”

“I fancied you were all a little cold towards me,” said the curate, blushing deeply as he spoke; “but if I thought you wanted me, I'd not have suffered my suspicion to interfere. I 'd have come up at once.”

“You're a good fellow, and I believe you thoroughly. There has been no coldness; at least, I can swear, none on my part, nor any that I know of elsewhere. We are in great trouble. You 've heard about my poor father's seizure—indeed you saw him when it was impending, and now here am I in a position of no common difficulty. The doctors have declared that they will not answer for his life, or, if he lives, for his reason, if he be disturbed or agitated by questions relating to business. They have, for greater impressiveness, given this opinion in writing, and signed it. I have telegraphed the decision to the firm, and have received this reply, 'Open all marked urgent, and answer.' Now, you don't know my father very long, or very intimately, but I think you know enough of him to be aware what a dangerous step is this they now press me to take. First of all, I know no more of his affairs than you do. It is not only that he never confided anything to me, but he made it a rule never to advert to a matter of business before any of us. And to such an extent did he carry his jealousy—if it was jealousy—in this respect, that he would immediately interpose if Underwood or the senior clerk said anything about money matters, and remark, 'These young gentlemen take no interest in such subjects; let us talk of something they can take their share in.', Nor was this abstention on his part without a touch of sarcasm, for he would occasionally talk a little to my sister Marion on bank matters, and constantly said, 'Why were n't you a boy, Marion? You could have taken the helm when it was my watch below.' This showed what was the estimate he had formed of myself and my brothers. I mention all these things to you now, that you may see the exact danger of the position I am forced to occupy. If I refuse to act, if I decline to open the letters on pressing topics, and by my refusal lead to all sorts of complications and difficulties, I shall but confirm him, whenever he recovers, in his depreciatory opinion of me; and if, on the other hand, I engage in the correspondence, who is to say that I may not be possessing myself of knowledge that he never intended I should acquire, and which might produce a fatal estrangement between us in future? And this is the doubt and difficulty in which you now find me. Here I stand surrounded with these letters—look at that pile yonder—and I have not courage to decide what course to take.”

“And he is too ill to consult with?”

“The doctors have distinctly forbidden one syllable on any business matter.”

“It's strange enough that it was a question which bore upon all this brought me up here to-night. Your father had promised me a letter to Lady Augusta at Rome, with reference to a chaplaincy I was looking for, and he told Belton to inform me that he had written the letter and sealed it, and left it on the table in the library. We found it there, as he said, only not sealed; and though that point was not important, it suggested a discussion between Julia and myself whether I had or had not the right to read it, being a letter of presentation, and regarding myself alone. We could not agree as to what ought to be done, and resolved at last to take the letter over to you, and say, If you feel at liberty to let me hear what is in this, read it for me: if you have any scruples on the score of reading, seal it, and the matter is ended at once. This is the letter.”

Augustus took it, and regarded it leisurely for a moment.

“I think I need have no hesitation here,” said he. “I break no seal, at least.”

He withdrew the letter carefully from the envelope, and opened it.

“'Dear Sedley,'” read he, and stopped. “Why, this is surely a mistake; this was not intended for Lady Augusta;” and he turned to the address, which ran, “The Lady Augusta Bramleigh, Villa Altieri, Rome.” “What can this mean?”

“He has put it in a wrong envelope.”

“Exactly so, and probably sealed the other, which led to his remark to Belton. I suppose it may be read now. 'Dear Sedley—Have no fears about the registry. First of all, I do not believe any exists of the date required; and secondly, there will be neither church, nor parson, nor register here in three months hence.'” Augustus stopped and looked at L'Estrange. Each face seemed the reflex of the other, and the look of puzzled horror was the same on both. “I must go on, I can't help it,” muttered Augustus, and continued: “'I have spoken to the dean, who agrees with me that Portshandon need not be retained as a parish. Something, of course, must be done for the curate here. You will probably be able to obtain one of the smaller livings for him in the Chancellor's patronage. So much for the registry difficulty, which indeed was never a difficulty at all till it occurred to your legal acuteness to make it such.'

“There is more here, but I am unwilling to read on,” said Augustus, whose face was now crimson, “and yet, L'Estrange,” added he, “it may be that I shall want your counsel in this very matter. I'll finish it.” And he read, “'The more I reflect on the plan of a compromise the less I like it, and I cannot for the life of me see how it secures finality. If this charge is to be revived in my son's time, it will certainly not be met with more vigor or more knowledge than I can myself contribute to it. Every impostor gains by the lapse of years—bear that in mind. The difficulties which environ explanations are invaribly in favor of the rogue, just because fiction is more plausible often than truth. It is not pleasant to admit, but I am forced to own that there is not one amongst my sons who has either the stamina or the energy to confront such a peril; so that, if the battle be really to be fought, let it come on while I am yet here, and in health and vigor to engage in it.

“'There are abundant reasons why I cannot confide the matter to any of my family—one will suffice: there is not one of them except my eldest daughter who would not be crushed by the tidings, and though she has head enough, she has not the temper for a very exciting and critical struggle.

“'What you tell me of Jack and his indiscretion will serve to show you how safe I should be in the hands of my sons, and he is possibly about as wise as his brothers, though less pretentious than the diplomatist; and as for Augustus, I have great misgivings. If the time should ever come when he should have convinced himself that this claim was good—and sentimental reasons would always have more weight with him than either law or logic—I say, if such a time should arrive, he 's just the sort of nature that would prefer the martyrdom of utter beggary to the assertion of his right, and the vanity of being equal to the sacrifice would repay him for the ruin. There are fellows of this stamp, and I have terrible fears that I have one of them for a son.'”

Augustus laid down the letter and tried to smile, but his lip trembled hysterically, and his voice was broken and uncertain as he said: “This is a hard sentence, George—I wish I had never read it. What can it all mean?” cried he, after a minute or more of what seemed cruel suffering. “What is this claim? Who is this rogue? and what is this charge that can be revived and pressed in another generation? Have you ever heard of this before? or can you make anything out of it now? Tell me, for mercy's sake, and do not keep me longer in this agony of doubt and uncertainty.”

“I have not the faintest clew to the meaning of all this. It reads as if some one was about to prefer a claim to your father's estate, and that your lawyer had been advising a compromise with him.”

“But a compromise is a sort of admission that the claimant was not an impostor—that he had his rights!”

“There are rights, and rights! There are demands, too, that it is often better to conciliate than to defy—even though defiance would be successful.”

“And how is it that I never heard of this before?” burst he out, indignantly. “Has a man the right to treat his son in this fashion? to bring him up in the unbroken security of succeeding to an inheritance that the law may decide he has no title to?”

“I think that is natural enough. Your father evidently did not recognize this man's right, and felt there was no need to impart the matter to his family.”

“But why should my father be the judge in his own cause?”

L'Estrange smiled faintly: the line in the Colonel's letter, in which he spoke of his son's sensitiveness, occurred to him at once.

“I see how you treat my question,” said Augustus. “It reminds you of the character my father gave me. What do you say then to that passage about the registry? Why, if we be clean-handed in this business, do we want to make short work of all records?”

“I simply say I can make nothing of it.”

“Is it possible, think you, that Marion knows this story?”

“I think it by no means unlikely.”

“It would account for much that has often puzzled me,” said Augustus, musing as he spoke. “A certain self-assertion that she has, and a habit, too, of separating her own interests from those of the rest of us, as though speculating on a time when she should walk alone. Have you remarked that?”

“I I,” said L'Estrange, smiling, “remarked nothing! there is not a less observant fellow breathing.”

“If it were not for those words about the parish registry, George,” said the other, in a grave tone, “I 'd carry a light heart about all this; I'd take my father's version of this fellow, whoever he is, and believe him to be an impostor; but I don't like the notion of foul play, and it does mean foul play.”

L'Estrange was silent, and for some minutes neither spoke.

“When my father,” said Augustus—and there was a tone of bitterness now in his voice—“when my father drew that comparison between himself and his sons, he may have been flattering his superior intellect at the expense of some other quality.”

Another and a longer pause succeeded.

At last L'Estrange spoke:—

“I have been running over in my head all that could bear upon this matter, and now I remember a couple of weeks ago that Longworth, who came with a French friend of his to pass an evening at the cottage, led me to talk of the parish church and its history; he asked me if it had not been burnt by the rebels in '98, and seemed surprised when I said it was only the vestry-room and the books that had been destroyed. 'Was not that strange?' asked he; 'did the insurgents usually interest themselves about parochial records?' I felt a something like a sneer in the question, and made him no reply.”

“And who was the Frenchman?”

“A certain Count Pracontal, whom Longworth met in Upper Egypt. By the way, he was the man Jack led over the high bank, where the poor fellow's leg was broken.”

“I remember; he, of course, has no part in the story we are now discussing. Longworth may possibly know something. Are you intimate with him?”

“No, we are barely acquainted. I believe he was rather flattered by the very slight attention we showed himself and his friend; but his manner was shy, and he is a diffident, bashful sort of man, not easy to understand.”

“Look here, L'Estrange,” said Augustus, laying his hand on the other's shoulder; “all that has passed between us here to-night is strictly confidential, to be divulged to no one, not even your sister. As for this letter, I 'll forward it to Sedley, for whom it was intended. I 'll tell him how it chanced that I read it; and then—and then—the rest will take its own course.”

“I wonder if Julia intends to come back with me?” said L'Estrange, after a pause.

“No. Nelly has persuaded her to stay here, and I think there is no reason why you should not also.”

“No, I 'm always uncomfortable away from my own den; but I 'll be with you early to-morrow. Good-night.”

Nelly and Julia did not go to bed till daybreak. They passed the night writing a long letter to Jack,—the greater part 'being dictated by Julia while Nelly wrote. It was an urgent entreaty to him to yield to the advice of his brother officers, and withdraw the offensive words he had used to the Admiral. It was not alone his station, his character, and his future in life were pressed into the service, but the happiness of all who loved him and wished him well, with a touching allusion to his poor father's condition, and the impossibility of asking any aid or counsel from him. Nelly went on: “Remember, dear Jack, how friendless and deserted I shall be if I lose you; and it would be next to losing you to know you had quitted the service, and gone Heaven knows where, to do Heaven knows what.” She then adverted to home, and said, “You know how happy and united we were all here, once on a time. This is all gone; Marion and Temple hold themselves quite apart, and Augustus, evidently endeavoring to be neutral, is isolated. I only say this to show you how, more than ever, I need your friendship and affection; nor is it the least sad of all my tidings, the L'Estranges are going to leave this. There is to be some new arrangement by which Portshandon is to be united to Killmulluck, and one church to serve for the two parishes. George and Julia think of going to Italy. I can scarcely tell you how I feel this desertion of me now, dearest Jack. I 'd bear up against all these and worse—if worse there be—were I only to feel that you were following out your road to station and success, and that the day was coming when I should be as proud as I am fond of you. You hate writing, I know; but you will, I 'm sure, not fail to send me half a dozen lines to say that I have not pleaded in vain. I fear I shall not soon be able to send you pleasant news from this, the gloom thickens every day around us; but you shall hear constantly.” The letter ended with a renewed entreaty to him to place himself in the hands and under the guidance of such of his brother officers as he could rely on for sound judgment and moderation. “Remember, Jack, I ask you to do nothing that shall peril honor; but also nothing in anger, nothing out of wounded self-love.”

“Add one line,—only one, Julia,” said she, handing the pen to her, and pushing the letter before her; and without a word Julia wrote: “A certain coquette of your acquaintance—heartless, of course, as all her tribe—is very sorry for your trouble, and would do all in her power to lessen it. To this end she begs you to listen patiently to the counsels of the present letter, every line of which she has read, and to believe that in yielding something—if it should be so—to the opinion of those who care for you, you acquire a new right to their affection, and a stronger title to their love.”

Nelly threw her arm around Julia's neck, and kissed her again and again.

“Yes, darling, these dear words will sink into his heart, and he will not refuse our prayer.”