clear income of about £500 a-year, invested in a mortgage secured on a part of the hereditary lands, on which was seated an old hunting-lodge bought by a brewer. With this portion of the property Graham parted very reluctantly. It was situated amid the most picturesque scenery on the estate, and the lodge itself was a remnant of the original residence of his ancestors before it had been abandoned for that which, built in the reign of Elizabeth, had been expanded into a Trentham-like palace by the last owner. But Mr. King's argument reconciled him to the sacrifice. "I can manage," said the prudent adviser, "if you insist on it, to retain that remnant of the hereditary estate which you are so loath to part with. But how? by mortgaging it to an extent that will scarcely leave you £50 a-year net from the rents. This is not all. Your mind will then be distracted from the large object of a career to the small object of retaining a few family acres; you will be constantly hampered by private anxieties and fears: you could do nothing for the benefit of those around you-could not repair a farmhouse for a better class of tenant-could not rebuild a labourer's dilapidated cottage. Give up an idea that might be very well for a man whose sole ambition was to remain a squire, however beggarly, Launch yourself into the larger world of metropolitan life with energies wholly unshackled, a mind wholly undisturbed, and secure of an income which, however modest, is equal to that of most young men who enter that world as your equals." Graham was convinced, and yielded, though with a bitter pang. It is hard for a man whose fathers have lived on the soil to give up all trace of their whereabouts. But none saw in him any morbid consciousness of change of fortune, when, a year after his father's death, he reassumed his place in society. If before courted for his expectations, he was still courted for himself; by many of the great who had loved his father, perhaps even courted more. He resigned the diplomatic career, not merely because the rise in that profession is slow, and in the intermediate steps the chances of distinction are slight and few, but more because he desired to cast his lot in the home country, and regarded the courts of other lands as exile. It was not true, however, as Lemercier had stated on report, that he lived on his pen. Curbing all his old extravagant tastes, £500 a-year amply supplied his wants. But he had by his pen gained distinction, and created great belief in his abilities for a public career. He had written critical articles, read with much praise, in periodicals of authority, and had published one or two essays on political questions, which had created yet more sensation. It was only the graver literature connected more or less with his ultimate object of a public career, in which he had thus evinced his talents of composition. Such writings were not of a nature to bring him much money, but they gave him a definite and solid station. In the old time, before the first Reform Bill, his reputation would have secured him at once a seat in Parliament; but the ancient nurseries of statesmen are gone, and their place is not supplied. He had been invited, however, to stand for more than one large and populous borough, with very fair prospects of success; and whatever the expense, Mr. King had offered to defray it. But Graham would not have incurred the latter obligation; and when he learned the pledges which his supporters would have exacted, he would not have stood if success had been certain and the cost nothing. "I cannot," he said to his friends, "go into the consideration of what is best for the country with my thoughts manacled; and I cannot be both representative and slave of the greatest ignorance of the greatest number. I bide my time, and meanwhile I prefer to write as I please, rather than vote as I don't please." Three years went by, passed chiefly in England, parly in travel; and at the age of thirty Graham Vane was still one of those of whom admirers say, "He will be a great man some day;" and detractors reply, "Some day seems a long way off." The same fastidiousness which had operated against that entrance into Parliament to which his ambition not the less steadily adapted itself, had kept him free from the perils of wedlock. In his heart he yearned for love and domestic life, but he had hitherto met with no one who realized the ideal he had formed. With his person, his accomplishments, his connections, and his repute, he might have made many an advantageous marriage. But somehow or other the charm vanished from a fair face, if the shadow of a money-bag fell on it; on the other hand, his ambition occupied so large a share in his thoughts that he would have fled in | legacies to servants, and donations to time from the temptation of a marriage public charities, the sum thus bequeathed that would have overweighted him beyond to his lost wife's nephew was two hunthe chance of rising. Added to all, he dred and twenty thousand pounds. desired in a wife an intellect that, if not equal to his own, could become so by sympathy a union of high culture and noble aspiration, and yet of loving womanly sweetness which a man seldom finds out of books; and when he does find it, perhaps it does not wear the sort of face that he fancies. Be that as it may, Graham was still unmarried and heartwhole. And now a new change in his life befell him. Lady Janet died of a fever contracted in her habitual rounds of charity among the houses of the poor. She had been to him as the most tender mother, and a lovelier soul than hers never alighted on the earth. His grief was intense; but what was her husband's?—one of those griefs that kill. To the side of Richard King his Janet had been as the guardian angel. His love for her was almost worship-with her, every object in a life hitherto so active and useful seemed gone. He evinced no noisy passion of sorrow. He shut himself up, and refused to see even Graham. But after some weeks had passed, he admitted the clergyman in whom, on spiritual matters, he habitually confided, and seemed consoled by the visits; then he sent for his lawyer, and made his will; after which he allowed Graham to call on him daily, on the condition that there should be no reference to his loss. He spoke to the young man on other subjects, rather drawing him out about himself, sounding his opinion on various grave matters, watching his face while he questioned, as if seeking to dive into his heart, and sometimes pathetically sinking into silence, broken but by sighs. So it went on for a few more weeks; then he took the advice of his physician to seek change of air and scene. went away alone, without even a servant, not leaving word where he had gone. After a little while he returned, more ailing, more broken than before. One morning he was found insensible stricken by paralysis. He regained consciousness, and even for some days rallied strength. He might have recovered, but he seemed as if he tacitly refused to live. He expired at last, peacefully, in Graham's arms. With such a fortune, opening indeed was made for an ambition so long obstructed. But Graham affected no change in his mode of life; he still retained his modest bachelor's apartments - engaged no servants — bought no horses — in no way exceeded the income he had possessed before. He seemed, indeed, depressed rather than elated by the succession to a wealth which he had never anticipated. Two children had been born from the marriage of Richard King; they had died young, it is true, but Lady Janet at the time of her own decease was not too advanced in years for the reasonable expectation of other offspring; and even after Richard King became a widower, he had given to Graham no hint of his testamentary dispositions. The young man was no blood-relation to him, and naturally supposed that such relations would become the heirs. But in truth the deceased seemed to have no near relations none had ever been known to visit him-none raised a voice to question the justice of his will. Lady Janet had been buried at Kensal Green; her husband's remains were placed in the same vault. For days and days Graham went his way lonelily to the cemetery. He might be seen standing motionless by that tomb, with tears rolling down his cheeks; yet his was not a weak nature— not one of those that love indulgence of irremediable grief. On the contrary, people who did not know him well said "that he had more head than heart," and the character of his pursuits, as of his writings, was certainly not that of a sentimentalist. He had not thus visited the tomb till Richard King had been placed within He it. Yet his love for his aunt was unspeakably greater than that which he could have felt for her husband. Was it then, the husband that he so much more acutely mourned; or was there something that, since the husband's death, had deepened his reverence for the memory of her whom he had not only loved as a mother, but honoured as a saint? At the opening of his will it was found that he had left Graham his sole heir and executor. Deducting Government duties, | These visits to the cemetery did not cease till Graham was confined to his bed by a very grave illness-the only one he had ever known. His physician said it was nervous fever, and occasioned THE PARISIANS. by moral shock or excitement; it was at- | Radical. He is left to the enviable free- He is now, as I have said, seated before his writing-table in deep thought. He takes up a letter which he had already glanced over hastily, and reperuses it with more care. The letter is from his cousin, the Duke of Alton, who had succeeded a few years an able since to the family honours man, with no small degree of information, an ardent politician, but of very rational and temperate opinions; too much occupied by the cares of a princely estate to covet office for himself; too sincere a patriot not to desire office for those to whose hands he thought the country might be most safely intrusted—an intimate friend of Graham's. The contents of the letter are these: MY DEAR GRAHAM,-I trust that you will welcome the brilliant opening into public life which these lines are intended to announce to you. Vavasour has just been with me to say that he intends to resign his seat for the county when Parliament meets, and agreeing with me that there is no one so fit to succeed him as yourself, he suggests the keeping his intention secret until you have arranged your committee and are prepared to take the field. You cannot hope to escape a contest; but I have examined the Register, and the party has gained rather than lost since the last election, when Vavasour was so triumphantly returned. -- Do not lose so rare an opportunity. There is but one drawback to your triumphant candidature. It will be said that you have no longer an acre in the county in which the Vanes have been settled so long. That drawback can be removed. It is true that you can never hope to buy back the estates which you death were compelled to sell at your father's -the old manufacturer gripes them too firmly to loosen his hold; and after all, even were your income double what it is, you would be overhoused in the vast pile in which your father buried so large a share of his fortune. But that beautiful old hunting-lodge, the Stamm Schloss of your family, with the adjacent farms, can be now repurchased very reaThe brewer who bought them sonably. Hussars, and will is afflicted with an extravagant son, whom he placed in the gladly sell the property for £5000 more than he gave: well worth the difference, as he has improved the farm-buildings and raised the rental. I think, in addition to the sum you have on mortgage, £23,000 will be accepted, and as a mere investment pay you nearly three per cent. But to you it is worth more than double county. You the money; it once more identifies your ancient name with the would be a greater personage with that moderate holding in the district in which your race took root, and on which your father's genius threw such a lustre, than you would be if you invested all your wealth in a county in which every squire and farmer would call you "the new man." I Pray think over this most seriously, and instruct your solicitor to open negotiations with the brewer at once. But rather put yourself into the train, and come back to England straight to me. will ask Vavasour to meet you. What news from Paris? Is the Emperor as ill as the papers insinuate? And is the revALTON. olutionary party gaining ground? — Your affectionate cousin, The expenses for this county, where there are so many out-voters to bring up, and so many agents to retain, are always large in comparison with some other counties; but that consideration is all in your favour, for it deters Squire Hunston, the only man who could beat you, from starting; and to your resources a thousand pounds more or less are a trifle not worth discussing. You know how difficult it is nowadays to find a seat for a man of moderate opinions like yours and mine. Our county would exactly suit you. The constituency is so evenly divided between the urban and rural populations, that its representative must fair-ble! - is it — is it?" At this moment the door-bell of the ly consult the interests of both. He can be neither an ultra-Tory nor a violent apartment rang, and a servant whom Gra As he put down this letter, Graham heaved a short impatient sigh. "The old Stamm Schloss," he muttered-"a foot on the old soil once more! and an entrance into the great arena with hands unfettered. Is it possi ham had hired at Paris as a laquais de place announced "Ce Monsieur." Graham hurried the letter into his portfolio, and said," "You mean the person to whom I am always at home?" "The same, Monsieur." "Admit him, of course." this very person encountered the said 66 And this is the whole information given to me. Monsieur on giving it asked me if I thought it desirable that he should commence inquiries at Aix-laChapelle, where Louise Duval was last There entered a wonderfully thin man, middle-aged, clothed in black, his face cleanly shaven, his hair cut very short, with one of those faces which, to use a French expression, say "nothing." It was absolutely without expression - it had not even, despite its thinness, one salient feature. If you had found your-seen by the person interested to discover self anywhere seated next to that man, her. I reply, No;-pains thrown away. your eye would have passed him over as Aix-la-Chapelle is not a place where any too insignificant to notice; if at a café, Frenchwoman not settled there by maryou would have gone on talking to your riage would remain. Nor does it seem friend without lowering your voice. probable that the said Duval would venWhat mattered it whether a bête like that ture to select for her residence Munich, overheard or not? Had you been asked a city in which she had contrived to ob to guess his calling and station, you tain certificates of her death. A Frenchmight have said, minutely observing the woman who has once known Paris always freshness of his clothes and the undenia- wants to get back to it; especially, Monble respectability of his tout ensemble, sieur, if she has the beauty which you "He must be well off, and with no care assign to this lady. I therefore suggestfor customers on his mind- -a ci-devant ed that our inquiries should commence in chandler who has retired on a legacy." this capital. Monsieur agreed with me, and I did not grudge the time necessary for investigation." Graham rose at the entrance of his visitor, motioned him courteously to a seat beside him, and waiting till the laquais had vanished, then asked, "What news?" "None, I fear, that will satisfy Monsieur. I have certainly hunted out, since I had last the honour to see you, no less than four ladies of the name of Duval, but only one of them took that name from her parents, and was also christened Louise." "Ah-Louise!" "Yes, the daughter of a perfumer, aged twenty-eight. She, therefore, is not the Louise you seek. Permit me to refer to your instructions." Here M. Renard took out a note-book, turned over the leaves, and resumed "Wanted, Louise Duval, daughter of Auguste Duval, a French drawing-master, who lived for many years at Tours, removed to Paris in 1845, lived at No. 12 Rue de Sat Paris for some years, but afterwards moved to a different quartier of the town, and died, 1848, in Rue L, No. 39. Shortly after his death, his daughter Louise left that lodging, and could not be traced. In 1849 official documents reporting her death were forwarded from Munich to a person, (a friend of yours, Monsieur). Death, of course, taken for granted; but nearly five years afterwards, "You were most obliging. Still I am beginning to be impatient if time is to be thrown away." "Naturally. Permit me to return to my notes. Monsieur informs me that twenty-one years ago, in 1848, the Parisian police were instructed to find out this lady and failed, but gave hopes of discovering her through her relations. He asks me to refer to our archives; I tell him that is no use. However, in order to oblige him, I do so. No trace of such inquiry-it must have been, as Monsieur led me to suppose, a strictly private one, unconnected with crime or with politics; and as I have the honour to tell Monsieur, no record of such investigations is preserved in the Rue Jerusalem. Great scandal would there be, and injury to the peace of families, if we preserved the results of private inquiries intrusted to us by absurdly jealous husbands, for instance. Honour, Monsieur, honour forbids it. Next I suggest to Monsieur that his simplest plan would be an advertisement in the French journals, stating, if I understand him right, that it is for the pecuniary interest of Madame or Mademoiselle Duval, daughter of Auguste Duval, artiste en dessin, to come forward. Monsieur objects to that." likes, he dipped his pen into the inkstand, and wrote rapidly thus to his kinsman : "I object to it extremely; as I have told you, this is a strictly confidential inquiry, and an advertisement, which in all likelihood would be practically useless (it MY DEAR COUSIN, - I lose not a post proved to be so in a former inquiry), in replying to your kind and considerate would not be resorted to unless all else letter. It is not in my power at present failed, and even then with reluctance." to return to England. I need not say "Quite so. Accordingly, Monsieur how fondly I cherish the hope of repredelegates to me, who have been recom-senting the dear old county some day. If mended to him as the best person he can Vavasour could be induced to defer his employ in that department of our police resignation of the seat for another seswhich is not connected with crime or poli- sion, or at least for six or seven months, tical surveillance, a task the most difficult. why then I might be free to avail myself I have, through strictly private investiga- of the opening; at present I am not. tions, to discover the address and prove Meanwhile I am sorely tempted to buy the identity of a lady bearing a name back the old Lodge - probably the brewamong the most common in France, and er would allow me to leave on mortgage of whom nothing has been heard for fif- the sum I myself have on the property teen years, and then at so migratory an and a few additional thousands. I have endroit as Aix-la-Chapelle. You will not reasons for not wishing to transfer at or cannot inform me if since that time present much of the money now invested the lady has changed her name by marin the funds. I will consider this point, riage." which probably does not press. "I have no reason to think that she has; and there are reasons against the supposition that she married after 1849." "Permit me to observe that the more details of information Monsieur can give me, the easier my task of research will be." "I have given you all the details I can, and, aware of the difficulty of tracing a person with a name so much the reverse of singular, I adopted your advice in our first interview, of asking some Parisian friend of mine, with a large acquaintance in the miscellaneous societies of your capital, to inform me of any ladies of that name whom he might chance to encounter; and he, like you, has lighted upon one or two, who, alas ! resemble the right one in name, and nothing more." "You will do wisely to keep him on the watch as well as myself. If it were but a murderess or a political incendiary, then you might trust exclusively to the enlightenment of our corps, but this seems an ⚫ affair of sentiment, Monsieur. Sentiment is not in our way. Seek the trace of that in the haunts of pleasure." I reserve all Paris news till my next; and begging you to forgive so curt and unsatisfactory a reply to a letter so important that it excites me more than I like to own, believe me, your affectionate GRAHAM. friend and cousin, CHAPTER II. AT about the same hour on the same day in which the Englishman held the conference with the Parisian detective just related, the Marquis de Rochebriant found himself by appointment in the cabinet d'affaires of his avoué M. Gandrin : that gentleman had hitherto not found time to give him a definitive opinion as to the case submitted to his judgment. The avoué received Alain with a kind of forced civility, in which the natural intelligence of the Marquis, despite his inexperience of life, discovered embarrassment. "Monsieur le Marquis," said Gandrin, fidgeting among the papers on his bureau, "this is a very complicated business. I have given not only my best attention to it, but to your general interests. To be plain, your estate, though a fine one, is fearfully encumbered - fearfully - fright M. Renard, having thus poetically delivered himself of that philosophical dog-fully." ma, rose to depart. "Sir," said the Marquis, haughtily, Graham slipped into his hand a bank-"that is a fact which was never disguised note of sufficient value to justify the pro- from you." found bow he received in return. When M. Renard had gone, Graham heaved another impatient sigh, and said to himself, "No, it is not possible-at least not yet." Then, compressing his lips as a man who forces himself to something he dis "I do not say that it was, Marquis; but I scarcely realized the amount of the liabilities nor the nature of the property. It will be difficult - nay, I fear, impossible to find any capitalist to advance a sum that will cover the mortgages at an interest less than you now pay. As for a |