hat your father was dead."

"I admire the delicacy of the scruple--I honour her for it."

"Sip your wine, Ralph--you'll find it excellent--I will indulge in one
glass, let Dr Hewings say what he will--to your health, my little
lover, and may I soon hail you as Sir Ralph Rathelin!"

"How is it possible?"

"You shall hear. We were talking about your good mother. When she had
married this Cherfeuil, who was the French assistant at a large school,
she found out the agents to whom you were entrusted, and soon arranged
with them that you should be domesticated under her own roof--you were
removed to Stickenham, and she and you were happy."

"Oh, how happy!"

"Well, you know it was in those happy days that I had first the pleasure
of forming an acquaintance with the inimitable Ralph Rattlin."

"But why Rattlin?--my name must be either Daventry or Rathelin."

"Rathelin, of a surety--it was first of all corrupted to Rattlin by that
topmost of all top-sawyers, Joe Brandon--it having thus been so
established, for many reasons, concealment among the rest, your mother
thought it best for you to retain it. Now, Ralph, mark this--about
eight, or rather seven, months ago, I took a short trip to my native
country in Germany. Never was my health more redundant. I left your
mother prosperous and happy, and beautiful as ever--she had heard of
you, and heard much in your favour, though you never once condescended
to write to any one of us. Whilst I was in--your father returned, a
changed man--changed in everything, even in religion: he had turned
penitent and a Catholic; and so had his travelling companion, the very
man who had married him to your sweet mother."

"Then he was in holy orders?"

"He was."

"God of infinite justice, I thank you."

"The Reverend Mr Thomas came here to my very house, when I was away,
with a long and repentant letter from his patron--full of inquiries for
yourself; and for your mother, Lady Rathelin."

"Where is that inestimable letter?"

"Oh, where?" said the again agonised Mrs Causand. "Ralph, much
mischief was done in that absence--my boy, my lost William: he, whom you
know as Joshua Daunton, broke into his mother's house, rifled my
escritoir, and carried off some of my most important documents--that
unread letter among the number."

"But how know you its contents?" said I, breathless with agitation.

"By the tenor of these succeeding ones from Sir Reginald and his
priest."

She op