hed to obtain for so many hopeless years, was now before me.

This impression was strengthened by the simple, unaffected, frank
manner in which he met the advances of the other clerks. There was a
charm in his smile, in the rich tones of his deep, mellow voice, which
made me anxious to catch the one, and hear the other again, though both
were marked by quiet, subdued sadness.

His face, strictly speaking, could not be called handsome; and his
general appearance was more remarkable for a refined and gentlemanly
demeanour, than for anything particularly striking in form or feature.
A good head, fine intelligent hazel eyes, and a profusion of curling
dark brown hair, redeemed his countenance from mediocrity; but its
careworn, anxious expression, showed too clearly, that some great
life-sorrow, had blighted the early promise of youth and hope.

It was some days before I had an opportunity of becoming better
acquainted with him. We were preparing for the spring assizes, and
there was work enough in the office to have employed twice the number
of hands. Nothing was heard but the scratching of pens upon paper, from
early day until midnight.

At last the hurry was over, and we had more leisure to look about us.
Mr. Moncton was attending a circuit in the country, and his watchful
eye was no longer upon us. The clerks were absent at dinner; Mr.
Harrison and I were alone in the office, which he never left till six,
when he returned to his lodgings in Charlotte Street to dine; and
unless there happened to be a great stress of business which required
his presence, we saw him no more that night.

After regarding me for some minutes with an earnest scrutiny which,
impulsive creature that I was, almost offended me, he said--

"Am I mistaken, or is your name _really_ Moncton?"

"_Really_ and truly, Geoffrey Moncton, at your service. What made you
doubt the fact?"

"I had always heard that Robert Moncton had but one son."

"Surely there is enough of the breed, without your wishing to affiliate
me upon him. I flatter myself that we do not in the least resemble each
other. And as to the name, I have so little respect for it, for his
sake, that I wish some one would leave me a fortune to change it; for,
between ourselves, I have small reason to love it. He is my uncle--my
father's younger brother--and I find the relationship near enough."

This explanation led to a brief sketch of my painful, though uneventful
history, to which M