"I cannot say," replied I, "that I exactly understand your metaphysics. But I am, at least, determined to act on as much of it as I understand, for this once, and give you the history of my unfortunate family.

"You are aware, then, that my mother was one of two daughters, the only children of a man of vast wealth. You probably know, too, that, with a large inheritance of that honour you prize so highly, my father received from his but a small remnant of an estate sacrificed in the public service. You perhaps do not know that the wealth of my mother's father consisted, mainly, of property entailed on his male descendants, with remainder to a distant relative, who, though a native Virginian, resided, and still lives in England. His wife died in the year 1770, in giving birth to my mother, her second daughter.

"In the interval which preceded the revolution, my grandfather, who disclaimed all thought of ever marrying again, was strongly urged to take measures for docking the entail. This he always refused to think of, not from indifference to his children, for he devoted his life and all he deemed his own to them, but because he could not be made to see the fairness of such a proceeding. Even when the revolution put an end to entails, he declared that his children should not profit by, what he called, a dishonest measure. He accordingly executed a will, by which he devised the entailed property to the remainder-man; and this will,

properly attested, he transmitted to him in England.

"So matters stood, until his two daughters married my father and uncle. He was then seen to take so great an interest in them and their families, that people began to think that he might be induced to change his will in favour of a grandson. But his daughters bore none but daughters for many years. At last, in 1799, I was born. Then the delight of the old man's heart, at the prospect of a male heir, displayed itself. He claimed me from my mother, as soon as I could walk, and made me his pet and plaything. About this time, too, he told my father that he had made a new will, devising his whole property to be divided into two equal parts, of which one half should go to the first of his grandsons that should attain the age of twenty-one; and that the other half should be again divided between his daughters. He added, that this will was in the hands of a confidential friend. My father's extreme delicacy made him a silent listener to this communication; and he did not even ask the name of this depositary of my grandfather's confidence and will.

66

Up to this time, the old gentleman, having little that he thought he could honestly give away, besides his income, had given no fortune with either daughter; but he paid faithfully and punctually to the husband of each a handsome annuity. There was no deed of any sort for this. He had merely promised it, and it was regularly paid."

CHAPTER IV.

"Coward hypocrisy fools but himself;

Shrinks from the eye of him he would observe,
And shuts his own, lest he be seen. He bears
The assassin's lantern, but intent to light

His timid steps, turns the detecting blaze
Full on himself."

"ARE you aware," continued I, " of Montague's connection with my grandfather?"

"I am," said Balcombe; "I know that he was the last remaining scion of a respectable and decayed family; that he was left a penniless orphan; that the old gentleman brought him up, educated him, had him trained to the bar, and gave him all the benefit of his countenance, and no little money."

"Then his obligations were even greater than I was aware of. Still he was poor, but, by diligence, and some talent, he got along, though slowly, in the world. He was much employed by my grandfather, sometimes as an amanuensis, sometimes as a man of business; and when the old gentleman died, suddenly, and without naming the person who had his will, no one doubted that Montague was the man. He was accordingly applied to, but in vain.

In the mean time, the devisee under the former will brought it forward; none later was produced, and it was established.

66

"My grandfather's liberality to his daughters had somewhat involved his estate; and, when his debts were paid, there was little left besides the entailed property. The annuity, of course, ceased; and my poor father, never an economist, having lived up to his income before, now tried in vain to bring his expenses within the compass of his reduced means.

He never could be prevailed on to take any active measures to recover the lost will, for he said he had not married for fortune. Whether the pressure of necessity would have overcome his scruples, had he lived to this time, I do not know. But he died before the ruin of his family was so manifest, though not before it was inevitable. His death hastened the consummation. About the time I came of age last April, all he left was sold; and, from the proceeds of the sale, all that remained to us were the means of my taking this journey, and of a scanty subsistence for my poor mother and sisters till I return."

"Was no opposition made to the probate of the will?"

"No further than to summon Montague."

"And what did he say ?"

"Before that time he had professed total ignorance of the last will; but being on oath, said he had seen such a paper, and did not know what had become of it, or where it was."

"Was he asked when he saw it last?"

"Yes. He said he had never seen it since the day it was acknowledged before him. Now it was obvious that he did not wish to say anything about the will; but when thus much was wrung from him by the power of conscience, many took that as a proof of the truth of the whole story. For, said they, it would have been as easy to lie, out and out, as to admit that he had witnessed the paper, but to say he did not know what had become of it." "As easy, to be sure, but not quite so safe." "Why so?"

"Because in the one case he cannot be contradicted; in the other he might have been." "Contradicted! By whom?"

66

By me.

I was there. I witnessed the will as well as Montague. I saw the old gentleman close it up in an envelope, and seal it with three seals, and hand it to Montague."

"Good Heaven! is it possible? But how, then, do you say that Montague's assertion that he never saw it again could not be contradicted ?"

"Because I do not know that he ever saw it again."

"How so?"

"I do not know that he ever opened the envelope."

"But how can he fail to know what has become of it?",