o scrapes,
and out of them again, than any man I ever met with," replied I,
laughing.

~472~~ Before we had finished breakfast Peter Barnett made his
appearance. On his return to Barstone, he was informed that Mr. Vernor
had been seized with an apoplectic fit, probably the result of the
agitation of the morning. He was still in a state of stupor when Peter
started to acquaint us with the fact, and the medical man who had been
sent for considered him in a very precarious condition. Under these
circumstances, Mr. Frampton immediately set out for Barstone, where
he remained till the following morning, when he rejoined us. A slight
improvement had taken place in the patient's health; he had recovered
his consciousness, and requested to see Mr. Frampton. During the
interview which ensued, he acknowledged Mr. Frampton's rights, and
withdrew all further opposition to his wishes.

After the lapse of a few days, Mr. Vernor recovered sufficiently to
remove from Barstone to a small farm which he possessed in the north,
where he lingered for some months, shattered alike in health and
spirits. He steadily refused to see either Clara or myself, or to accept
the slightest kindness at our hands; but we have since had reason to
believe, that in this he was actuated by a feeling of compunction,
rather than of animosity. Nothing is so galling to a proud spirit, as to
receive favours from those it has injured. In less than a year from
the time he quitted Barstone Priory, a second attack terminated his
existence. On examining his papers after his decease, Peter Barnett's
suspicions that Richard Cumberland was Mr. Vernor's natural son were
verified, and this discovery tended to account for a considerable
deficiency in Clara's fortune, the unhappy father having been tempted
to appropriate large sums of money to relieve his spendthrift son's
embarrassments. This also served to explain his inflexible determination
that Clara should marry Cumberland, such being the only arrangement by
which he could hope to prevent the detection of his dishonesty.

Reader, the interest of my story, always supposing it to have possessed
any in your eyes, is now over.

Since the occurrence of the events I have just related the course of my
life has been a smooth, and, though not exempt from some share in the
"ills that flesh is heir to," an unusually happy one.

In an address, whether from the pulpit or the rostrum, half the battle
is to know when you have s