oy! there is war in the camp. Theophilus
leaves the house under the ban of his father's anger. They have had a
desperate quarrel, and he quits London in disgrace; and if you are not
a gainer by this change in the domestic arrangements, my name is not
George Harrison."

"Why do you think so?"

"Because I know more of Robert Moncton than you do. To provoke his son
to jealousy, he will take you into favour. If Theophilus has gone too
far--he is so revengeful, so unforgiving--he may, probably, make you
his heir."

"May God forbid!" cried I, vehemently.

Harrison laughed.

"Gold is too bright to betray the dirty channels through which it
flows--and I feel certain, Geoffrey----"

A quick rap at the office-door terminated all further colloquy, and I
rose to admit the intruder.

Harrison and I generally wrote in an inner, room, which opened into the
public office; and a passage led from the apartment we occupied into
Mr. Moncton's private study, in which he generally spent the fore-part
of the day, and in which he received persons who came to consult him on
particular business.

On opening the door which led into the public office, a woman wrapped
closely in a black camblet cloak, glided into the room.

Her face was so completely concealed by the large calash and veil she
wore, and, but for the stoop in the shoulders, it would have been
difficult at a first glance to have determined her age.

"Is Mr. Moncton at home?" Her voice was harsh and unpleasant; it had a
hissing, grating intonation, which was painful to the ear.

The moment the stranger spoke, I saw Harrison start, and turn very
pale. He rose hastily from his seat and walked to a case of law-books
which stood in a dark recess, and taking down a volume, continued
standing with his back towards us, as if intently occupied with its
contents.

This circumstance made me regard the woman with more attention. She
appeared about sixty years of age. Her face was sharp, her eyes black
and snake-like, while her brow was channelled into deep furrows which
made you think it almost impossible that she had ever been young or
handsome. Her upper lip was unusually short, and seemed to writhe with
a constant sneer; and in spite of her corrugated brow, long nose, and
curved chin, which bore the unmistakable marks of age, her fine teeth
shone white and ghastly, when she unclosed her fleshless, thin lips. A
worse, or more sinister aspect, I have seldom, during the course of