is it to be the ~415~~
old scheme, a mock marriage? I ask, because in the latter case I must
look out for somebody to play parson. Wishing you your usual luck,

"I remain, yours to command,

"Ferdinand Spicer, "_Captain in the Bilboa Fencibles_."

"Spicer!" I exclaimed, as he concluded; "I knew a Captain Spicer once,
who was a person likely enough to lend himself to a scheme of this
vile nature. Well, Peter, the information is most important, however
questionable the means by which it has been acquired. The matter must
be looked to; but first, I want to learn a few particulars about Miss
Saville's relations on the mother's side." I then proceeded with a
string of questions furnished me by Mr. Frampton, by the answers to
which I ascertained, beyond a doubt, that Clara was indeed his niece,
the orphan child of his favourite sister. Having established this point
to my own satisfaction, and the unbounded delight of Peter Barnett,
who at length began to entertain a not unreasonable hope that his pet
daydream of kicking Mr. Vernor out of Barstone Priory might, at some
time or other be realised, I said, "Now, Peter, I must somehow contrive
to see your young mistress, and try to obtain her forgiveness; but as
I cannot say I managed the matter over-well the other day, I will put
myself into your hands, to be guided by you entirely".

"Ah! I thought what was a-coming; well, that is speaking sensible-like
for once; but do you think you could write anything as would persuade
her to meet you? She's precious angry, I'm afraid, with us both, and
small blame to her either; for hit ain't over-pleasant to be suspected
when one's innocent, and she has a high spirit, bless her!--she wouldn't
be her father's own daughter if she hadn't."

"I can write a few lines to her, and try," replied I mournfully, for the
old man's words sounded like a death knell to my hopes.

"Come, don't be out of spirits, and down-casted-like, sir," urged Peter;
"suppose she did make up her mind she'd give you the cold shoulder,
she'd be sure to change it again to-morrow, women is such wersytile
creeturs; besides, she couldn't do it if she wanted to; it would break
her heart, I know. I wonder where she'd find such another sweetheart?"
continued he, _sotto voce_, as he turned to get the writing materials;
"good-looking, high-spirited, uncommon pleasant to talk to, six foot one
~416~~ if he's an inch, and as upright as if I'd had the drilling of him
myself."