ther the chain of his affections. He had been
passionately fond of his wife, and when she died, Emma had filled up the
void in his heart. They were all, save his money, that he had ever loved.
The world had cried out against him as a hard-hearted, rapacious man, and
he, in return, despised the world.

He was, therefore, much grieved at her conduct, and questioned Emma as to
where her frequent visits led her, but could only obtain for answer that
she was not aware she had been absent so much as to give him uneasiness.
This was unsatisfactory, and so confirmed the old man in his suspicions
that he determined to have his daughter watched.

This he effected through the means of an ancien ami, then in the
profession of what he called an "inspector," though his enemies (and all
men have such) called him a mouchard, or spy. However, by whatever name he
called himself, or others called him, he understood his business, and so
effectually watched the young lady that he discovered her frequent
absences to be for the purpose of meeting a man who, after walking some
distance with her, managed, despite the inspector's boasted abilities, to
give him the slip.

This naturally puzzled him, and so it would any man in his situation.
Fancy the feelings of one of the government's employees in the argus line
of business, a man renowned for his success in almost all the arduous and
intricate affairs that had been committed to his care, to find himself
baffled in a paltry private intrigue, and one which he had merely
undertaken for the sake of friendship!

For a second time, he tried the plan of fancying himself to be well paid,
thinking this would stimulate his dormant energies, knowing well that a
thing done for friendship's sake is always badly done; but even here he
failed. He watched them to a certain corner, but, before he could get
around it, they were nowhere to be seen. This was not to be borne. It was
setting him at defiance. Should he call in the assistance of a brother in
the line? No, that would be to acknowledge himself beaten, and the
disgrace he could not bear--his honor was concerned, and he would achieve
it single handed; but, then, it was very perplexing.

The man, to his experienced eye, seemed not, as he had done to Emma, a
dashing gentleman, but more like a foul bird in fine feathers. Something
must be wrong, and he must find it out--but, then, again came that
confounded question, how?

He would go and consult old M