ll of
strength and vigor--wherein he had so often lain awake, revolving
schemes to win his Harry, or slept and dreamed of her. The comparison of
his "now" and "then" was melancholy enough, but it was not bitter. His
pain was great, but not out of proportion to his comfort. He had still
Harry's love, and he had even that of two other hearts besides, which he
had reconciled and drawn together. In him Charles had had an unwearying
advocate with Agnes, and at last he had won his cause. She had been
driven to take refuge in her last intrenchment--her poverty--and
Richard had made that untenable.

"You will not be an heiress, perhaps, my dear," he had said to her,
"though you deserve to be one; but neither will you be undowered. I have
left you all I have. Nay, it is not much--a few score acres by the
sea--but they will soon be yours."

She had accepted them unwillingly, and under protest; but a day came
when it became necessary for her to remonstrate with the sick man once
again concerning this matter, sorry as she was to thwart or vex him; she
therefore requested, to have a few minutes' talk alone with him.

"Dear Mr. Balfour," said she, gently, "I am going to disobey you in once
more reopening the matter of your kind bequest. Something has happened
which has given the affair a wholly different aspect. Among the visitors
yesterday to that dreadful mine, to which people still flock, there was
a Mr. Stratum--a young engineer, it seems, of some reputation; and in
his researches in Wheal Danes they say he has hit upon a great treasure,
or what may turn out to be such."

"Ay," said Richard, with a smile; "what's that?"

"A copper lode. It is curious that so many folks should have come and
gone there and never found it before; but there it is, for certain. Mr.
Stratum has seen Charles, and tells him that he can hardly trust himself
to speak of its probable value."

"Well, I congratulate you, my dear, on being an heiress."

"Nay, my dear Mr. Balfour, but this must not be. Overborne by your kind
pressure I consented to receive this bequest--a considerable one in
itself, indeed--for what it was. I could not now take advantage of your
ignorance of its real value; it distresses me deeply to give you trouble
in your present sad condition, but you must see yourself that
circumstances compel me."

"Give me the will, my dear; it is in yonder drawer. Here is a letter
folded in it in my handwriting. What does the superscription say