I DID not see my kind host until towards dinner-time next day—and then, as it happened, Jack was obliged, in consequence of some business out of town, to be absent from his brother's board. I had spent the morning in viewing the rarities of the place; in the evening Mr Todd took me with him to the theatre;—and we adjourned from thence to one of those obscure resorts which were then fashionable under the name and title of oyster-cellars. Here my friend, supper being over, and a small bowl scientifically mixed, filled the glasses to the brim, and began as follows.—“You will scarcely guess, my dear fellow, what has been this morning's work with me, or at least a part of it.”

“No, truly, Mr Todd—how should I?”

“No matter—but you shall hear, my fine fellow, you shall hear. Well, then,” he continued, after a slight pause, “you must know I have been at the Register Office, and ‘faith I have been examining the title-deeds of the Blackford property a little.—Fill your glass, my dear Wald, for I believe I have news that will astonish you.”

“Why, nothing about those matters can very much interest me, I think,” was my reply.

“Softly, softly,” whispered he, with a gentle smile of superiority—“what would you say if your father's will was nothing but waste paper?”

“I should say nothing about it,” I repled; “’tis his will, and that's enough.”

“Fine feeling there, my young friend, fine feeling indeed—but listen to me, notwithstanding. When you have lived as long in the world as I have done, you will know that a man is seldom the best judge in his own concerns: and in the meantime, I am sure you will pardon my taking the freedom of looking a little into yours for you.—

You love your cousin, Wald?”

I blushed, half conscious, half irate.

He paused for an instant, and went on—“And she loves you—”

I smiled my scorn.

“She loved you, certainly.”

“Nonsense.—We were children.”

“She is much under the influence of her mother, and her mother's husband?”