his way by
writing, and thought to do it, and either to hide a failure or
brighten a success, by using a pseudonym. People were more jealous
about their names in those days. He had better," added the
unsuccessful veteran of letters, "he had far better have made his
living as a--as a"--he looked about him for a fitting simile--"as a
bookseller."

"Then, sir," said Arnold, "what was his real name?"

"His name was Claude Deseret, of course."

"Iris," said Arnold, taking her hand, "this is the last proof. We have
known it for four or five days, but we wanted the final proof, and now
we have it. My dear, you are the cousin of Clara Holland, and all her
fortune, by her grandfather's will, is yours. This is the secret of
the safe. This was what the stolen papers told you."

CHAPTER XIV.

THE HAND OF FATE.

At the first stroke of noon next day, Arnold arrived at his cousin's
house in Chester Square. He was accompanied by Iris, by Lala Roy, and
by Mr. Frank Farrar.

"Pray, Arnold, what is meant by all this mystery?" asked Clara,
receiving him and his party with considerable surprise.

"I will explain all in a few minutes, my dear Clara. Meanwhile, have
you done what you promised?"

"Yes, I wrote to Dr. Washington. He will be here, I expect, in a few
minutes."

"You wrote exactly in the form of words you promised me?"

"Yes, exactly. I asked him to meet me here this morning at a quarter
past twelve, in order to discuss a few points connected with Iris's
future arrangements, before he left for America, and I wrote on the
envelope, 'Immediate and important.'"

"Very well. He will be sure to come, I think. Perhaps your cousin will
insist upon another check for fifty pounds being given to him."

"Arnold, you are extremely suspicious and most ungenerous about Dr.
Washington, on whose truth and disinterested honesty I thoroughly
rely."

"We shall see. Meanwhile, Clara, I desire to present to you a young
lady of whom we have already spoken. This is Miss Aglen, who is, I
need hardly say, deeply anxious to win your good opinion. And this is
Lala Roy, an Indian gentleman who knew her father, and has lived in
the same house with her for twenty years. Our debt--I shall soon be
able to say your debt--of gratitude to this gentleman for his long
kindness to Miss Aglen--is one which can never be repaid."

Clara gave the most frigid bow to both Iris and Lala Roy.

"Really, Arnold, you are talking in enigmas this morn