such bitter weeds. Perhaps the parsons were right, but it was over now. He had made his choice, and must abide by it. His eyes grew moist, and there was an oppression on his chest when he thought of this. Was his heart yearning towards the young soldier? Would he have really wished to have that stout arm to lean upon in his old age, and to be able to say in the face of the world, "This is my son; look at him-see how brave and good he is. I am not childless; I have a companion and a friend, as well as an heir, who shall transmit my name to unborn generations"? The Duke was an unscrupulous man, and he knitted his brows till they met while he sought for a solution of this difficulty. Few obstacles had ever stood in the way of those resolute Wyldwyls. He might, it was quite possible-he might declare that he had been privately married to Madge over the border; and Sharpe, if it served his purpose, could produce witnesses in support of the statement. It might be easily done, and the sovereign might revive all his titles in the person of an undoubted Earl of Winguid. But how could the real marriage of Madge with Thomas Brown be got over? It was unfortunate that the English laws do not recognise the right of adoption. To be sure, the Duke was a Count of the Holy Roman Empire among other things, and by declaring his marriage in Italy, young Brown would become a Count of the Holy Roman Empire too; but that was only giving him a fine historic title, which perhaps he would not appreciate, and means must be taken to make him Duke of Courthope. His Grace would think over them, and take advice. Mortmain was of no use in troubled waters, but Sharpe, who knew the whole story, would go any lengths. Lord Overlaw, the Premier, too, who had just succeeded Lord Hanaper, as usual, was his firmest friend now living, and could understand a gentleman's wishes in such a case. Much might be done in this way with time and management. There were several peerages which had been manipulated. They might begin by making young Brown a baron on his marriage with Lord Punjaub's heiress, or give him the remainder in the General's patent; then shortly afterwards he could be raised to an earldom, as had been done in a recent case. He might take the Wyldwyl name, too, ostensibly in right of his wife. "Oh, yes," muttered the Duke, drawing down the corners of his mouth, "I think I can pull him through."

Having made up his mind to acknowledge his own son, the Duke determined to be quick about it, for he was eager to enter into possession of the only affection left to him; and he thought with complacency how keen an interest he would begin to take again in politics, with the new objects which he had in view. Nevertheless, there was more than one hitch in the way of putting things upon the footing which he desired they should occupy. The Captain treated him with deference and respect, but his manners had grown somewhat cooler of late, because he had not been able to resist the conviction which an intimate knowledge of the Duke's affairs had forced upon him, that his Grace had not behaved altogether

honourably towards Lord Punjaub. The Duke could not go up to him all at once and say, "You are my son; I have left you to starve for nearly a quarter of a century, or to beg, or to steal, and now I want to make you a peer of the realm, because I am a lonely old nobleman with a heartache." Some more cautious way of breaking the business gently must be found, and the Duke, upon consideration, became convinced that no better mediator could be found between them than Dean Mowledy.

The priest came readily at the summons of the noble, and they conferred long together in that fine old library where the fortunes of the Courthopes had been so often decided. The Dean was much distressed, though his Grace spoke with infinite tact and delicacy; but the upshot of it all was that the only woman he had ever loved had been betrayed, that her heart had been broken, and that her destroyer stood before him, one of the princes of his people, and now sought a reward for his crime, instead of submitting meekly to the punishments which were due to it. "I cannot-I dare not help your Grace," said the Dean, bowing his head upon his hands. It is not for me to judge what you have done; I beseech you to ask forgiveness where pardon may be found for all those who repent."

The Duke was not prepared for this view of the case. He had been satisfied with himself, and thought he was doing a becoming and generous act. He was annoyed to find that a new-fledged Dean presumed to consider him as a reprobate, beyond the benefit of clergy. His Grace changed the conversation in a dry way he had when displeased, without condescending to discuss the merits of the topic in dispute; and he left an invitation to stay at Beaumanoir, which he was prepared to give the Dean, unuttered, as well as the implied promise of a bishopric which he had also prepared, not without a fair chance of being some day able to fulfil it, through Lord Overlaw, because Dean Mowledy was an unknown man, and there were no potent rivalries likely to be aroused by his promotion.

Then the Duke decided to act for himself; and one morning, after lunch, he took Captain Brown with winning familiarity by the arm, and walked about with him up and down the south terrace, where the monthly roses grew in gay profusion. The Duke was a wise and skilful gardener, and took great pains with them himself, having a natural taste for flowers, as he had for everything which was pretty, and bright, and fragrant. He often led his guests apart there when he had anything to say to them of a confidential character, and walked with them out of ear-shot up and down that terrace, while the roses nodded and tossed their fair heads to every light air that wantoned with them.

What passed between the two gentlemen on this occasion was never known. It is possible that the Duke spoke in his grand, kind, protecting way, and let the truth rather appear than told it. He had the art of raising those he spoke to up to himself, if he so willed it, and had considerable command of pathos.

Miss Wyldwyl, observing them from her balcony, thought they made

a stately picture, as they walked slowly amidst the statues, fountains, and flowers which surrounded them, with here and there a peacock, strutting and displaying his gorgeous colours in the noonday sun. The Duke was fond of peacocks.

Their talk grew very earnest after a while, and then Miss Wyldwyl saw the Duke shade his eyes with one hand, stretch out the other, and place it upon his companion's shoulder; but the younger man turned away, and Miss Wyldwyl knew, by that subtle sympathy which is part of a deep affection, that there was indignation or sudden anger in the movement which he made. Still they walked on again presently, though her lover's head was downcast, and his whole form drooped in a dejected manner, as though he were weary or humbled. By-and-by they ceased speaking; some embarrassment was visible between them, and they parted. The Duke returned to the library, where he was for ever writing letters now; but William Brown did not seek her as he was wont. He took his way alone towards the sombre beech-woods of the park, with his hands hanging down listlessly, and an air of brooding sadness which she had never seen before.

She thought they must have been talking of the dead Marquis, and never penetrated that mystery, if mystery it was, though in after-life she guessed at it. They were married soon afterwards, and lived very happily, being rich-very rich-for the fortune of Mr. Brown, the Indian merchant, was bequeathed to them; and they were also prosperous and honoured, which is better still than being rich. Her husband's behaviour to the Duke of Courthope was henceforth subdued and respectful. He seemed to be always on the watch to render his Grace some service; and when he mounted the broad flight of steps on the terrace of Beaumanoir somewhat stiffly and feebly, her husband placed his hand beneath the Duke's arm and supported him. Captain Brown never addressed the Duke, but listened when he spoke as though under the influence of some spell which he dared not break; and once she saw him hold the Duke's stirrup when they rode out together. It was not usual for Captain Brown to show such deference to mere rank, and she observed it in her womanly way, then grew accustomed to it, and perhaps divined the cause. His Grace died suddenly of an affection of the heart one day while dressing for dinner, and honest George Wyldwyl became the last Duke of Courthope and Revel. The titles were never revived, the late peer having been called away, before his schemes were ripe, to a place where, maybe, dukedoms are of little worth. But in the fulness of years Amabel Wyldwyl became Countess of Winguid, as Madge should have been; so that, after all, William Brown and her descendants suffered little by the law of inheritance. For Time works wonders, and Wisdom is justified of her children.