Many eyes were now turned upon the three individuals enumerated. Surecase the lawyer spoke. "Of course I knew there was a will, and that it was put in your possession, Mr. Marshall; but the testator, when I drew it up, requested me to say nothing about it till the time came for its execution. So it is evident that professional honor made it incumbent on me to preserve silence."

"And as for Draper's part and mine," said Higgs, "we witnessed the will,-that can't be disputed, but it was'nt for us to be telling tales out of school. Liars and lawyers are all one word they say, so it would have been a hard case indeed if professional spunk could do more for Mr. Surecase than honesty could do for us. Mr. Ander made us promise to keep our lips tight for a while."

"Tell us then what the will is," claimed a dozen voices together.

"The document, I suppose," answered Mr. Marshall," is safe in my desk at home, but you will hardly be satisfied to wait till I fetch it here, so I may as well tell you the substance of it. Where are you going Seymour ?"

The young Englishman who had risen from his seat, replied, "I return to England in the packet which leaves this afternoon, and it is time I was preparing my little baggage-I will stop, however, sir, to hear you through before I make my farewell."

"You act wisely," rejoined Mr. Marshall, "and to reward your patient attention to an old man's prattle I will be very brief. The short and long of the matter is, that the whole property is bequeathed to Laurence Seymour and Matilda Chesley, and their heirs."

"Is this really so ?" said Seymour, suppressing his agitation.

"It is lucky for me," said Mr. Marshall with a smile, "that I am able to establish my assertion by good evidence. I should have been sorry to have lost my reputation for veracity at this late day. Yes, Mr. Seymour, I am in truth able to congratulate you on a bit of good fortune which is not met with every day. The will is plain, decisive, and I think incontestible. The only dark sentence in it you probably are able to throw light upon. Its object as well as I can comprehend it, is to release you from some bargain, or other.

The youth was at first somewhat bewildered by the suddenly communicated information, but as soon as the case was made clear to him, answered, "well, Mr. Ander's the best leader after all, and here's one that means to stick to him henceforth, that is if I live, and I reckon I've got some physic now that's a big sight more healing than 'intments and plasters."

Such was the manner in which the Ander estate came into the possession of the Seymours. As to the note of which black Achsah was the bearer, inquiry revealed that Mr. Ander had given it to her nearly six weeks previous to his decease, with the direction to put it into the hand of Laurence Seymour when he should make his next visit to Miss Chesley. Secrecy was enjoined till then, and so successful was Reginald in the choice of all his agents that the old woman, as has been seen, fulfilled her charge with the most exemplary fidelity. It may be added, that some expressions dropped by the captain of the schooner gave ground for the shrewd conjecture that Mr. Marshall's involuntary voyage to New Orleans was not altogether accidental. What Reginald's object was in subjecting his heirs to such a trial as he did can only be guessed. Perhaps the best explanation was that given by Buck Weeks.

"Mr. Ander," he said, " was queer, and had his own way of doing things."

M'LLE DE LA SEIGLIERE watched alone. Leaning upon the support of an open window, with her brow resting in her hand and her fingers lost amid the tresses of her flowing hair, she heard, with an air of abstraction, the confused murmur which came up from the sleeping fields-the concert of the water, the waves and the winds, the nocturn of creation, the harmonious language of the serene and starry night. With all these voices and all these murmurs M❜lle de la Seigliére mingled the first stirrings of a heart wherein a new life was just beginning to dawn and reveal itself. It came up in her like the noise of some hidden fountain about to gush forth and already lifting the moss and turf which cover it. Helen had been reared in a world of grace, elegance and polish, but circumscribed, cold, correct, and monotonouswe will not say absolutely tedious. Her interviews with old Stamply, the letters of Bernard, the image and memories of one she had never known-these constituted all the poetry of her youth. But from these frequent conversations and the frequent reading and re-reading of his letters, all of which breathed the warmest filial affection united with the exaltations of glory-letters of a child as well as a hero, caressing and chivalrous, all written in the intoxication of triumph the day after the combat she had come to entertain toward him that romantic affection which attaches to the memory of friends gathered before their time. Little by little the strange feeling had grown up and was beginning to open in her bosom like a mysterious flower;-a little, blue, ideal flower which perfumes the depths of the soul in its lonely hours. Helen cherished it in her heart that she might look upon it and breathe it there. And why should she distrust the dream when she had never seen the reality? Why should she fear

the shadow whose body was resting quietly in the tomb? Sometimes she carried his letters with her on her excursions, as she would have done some cherished book; and that very morning, seated on the sidehill under a bunch of aspens, she had re-read the most touching-that wherein Bernard enclosed to his father the first piece of red riband which had decorated his breast. The end of the riband still showed traces of powder, and was tarnished, moreover, by the kisses of old Stamply. Helen could not help thinking that this was worth all the carnations, roses, and camelias which Madame de Vaubert was accustomed to wear in her belt. With her imagination excited by the descriptions of the scenes of which Bernard gave an account in the letter, and a heart inflamed, she returned to the chateau, and had scarcely entered the room when they pointed out to her-Bernard, Bernard resuscitated, Bernard living and standing before her. This, certainly, was more than was necessary to surprise one who had hitherto dealt only with chimeras. The miraculous apparition of the young man, who bore no resemblance to any one she had ever seen before, but who did not illy respond to the idea which she had confusedly formed of him, the position of the son, whom she believed disinherited by the probity of his father, his grave and sombre look, his stern and haughty attitude, the sunlike brilliancy of his eye, and his shining forehead, his trials and sufferings, in short, all the details of that strange day, produced upon her an impression singularly romantic and deep. So far was she from suspecting that what was passing within her gave cause for alarm, that she abandoned herself, without the least solicitude to the sensations which were moving in her heart like the the waves of a new life. Nevertheless she saw at once that, since Bernard

was living, she had no claim upon the letters which his father had given her upon his death-bed. But the thought of separating from them troubled her; she took them all, one by one, read them again, for the last time, and then put them all into the same envelope,silently bidding adieu to these friends of her solitude, these companions of her leisure hours. This done she went out upon the balcony and there stood for some time gazing upon the stars, the white vapor which marked the winding course of the Clain, and the moon, like a disk of brass, just passing below the horizon.

Although it had been light for some time, Bernard awoke in darkness. A single beam of light, coming, he knew not whence, divided the apartment like a luminous band, in which were suspended millions of little particles-like golden dust in a riband of fire. After remaining for some instants in that state of listless indifference which amounts neither to sleeping nor waking, he suddenly started up at the low, murmuring sound of the reality which was stealing upon him like the flowing tide, listened for a moment, and threw an enquiring look around the chamber. The sound drew nearer; the tide was continually advancing. Startled and amazed, he leaped from his bed, drew the curtain and threw open the shutters. His eyes and his mind were enlightened at once; he comprehended the peculiarity of his position as clearly as he saw around him the sumptuous furniture of the chamber. The eagle which falls to sleep free in its eyrie, and wakes up perched in the cage of a menagerie, does not experience a feeling of rage and stupor more sombre and terrible than Bernard now experienced at the recollection of what had passed the day and evening before. He almost despaired of himself, and felt self-accused of cowardice, perjury, and infamy. He was tempted to throw the Japan vases, the cup of gold pieces, the Turkish slippers, and the cigars, out of the window, and to finish the matter by throwing himself out after them. He went through all the motions of twisting Madame de Vaubert's neck, and bethought himself what chastisement he should inflict upon the Marquis. Even Helen herself found no favor before his burning indignation. He stood motionless before the mirror, and asked himself if that could be his image reflected there. Was

it, in reality, his? In a single day, untrue to all his instincts, a traitor to his opinions, to his feelings, to his origin, to his duties, to his resolutions, to his interests even, he had struck hands with the nobility and accepted the hospitality of the plunderers and assassins of his father! By what sad charm? by what dark enchantment? Indignant at having been thus sported with, and convinced that the Marquis was only an old roue, and his daughter a young intriguer trained in the school of Madame de Vaubert, disengaged from all the bands with which they had insidiously bound him, ashamed and furious at the same time, at having suffered himself, like Gulliver, to be thus caught by such pigmies, he seized his whip, crushed his hat hastily upon his head, and, without even taking leave of his hosts, rushed from the chateau resolved not to return till he had driven out the entire race of the La Seiglierés.

As he passed through the court, planted with fig-trees, horse-chestnuts and lindens, on the way to the stable to saddle his horse, he was met by M'lle de La Seigliére, who had just left the chateau for a morning walk, arrayed in her simple morning attire, yet, even more beautiful than she had seemed the evening before, and with a brow so serene, an air so calm and a look so limpid, that Bernard's indignation gave way before her as the mist upon the hills melts and disperses before the rising sun. To suspect that noble and sweet creature of hypocrisy, of lying, of intrigue and duplicity, was like accusing the innocent birds which were cooing and fluttering upon the neighboring dove-cot, of murder and carnage. She advanced directly towards him.

"I was looking for you, Monsieur," said she.

At the sound of her voice Bernard started, and the charm recommenced. They were at this moment near a little gate, which opened into the fields. Helen opened it, and, passing her hand through the arm of Bernard

"Come," she added, "there is time enough yet. Father thought last evening to go and take a hunt with you this morning; but you will be obliged to content yourself with a stroll with me through the fields. You will lose by it; but the rabbits will be the gainers."