t is a plan, and that some person, calling himself
the heir or assign of Little, will soon apply to the 'Gosshawk' for five
thousand pounds. Well, let him. I shall look on that person as the agent
of a living man, not the heir of a dead one; and I shall tell him I
don't believe in arms, and shoulders, and tweed suits, and plain gold
rings--(why, wedding-rings are the very things conjurors take from
the public at random to play hanky-panky with; they are so like one
another). I shall demand to see the man's face; and the mother who bore
him must identify that face before I will pay one shilling to his heirs
or assigns. I am waiting to see who will come forward and claim. Nobody
moves; and that is curious. Well, when they do, I shall be ready for
them. You look pale! But no wonder: it is really no subject for an
after-dinner conversation."

Coventry was pale indeed, and his mind all in a whirl as to what he
should say; for Mr. Carden's sagacity terrified him, and the worst of it
was, he felt sure that Grace Carden heard every word.

At last, however, his natural cunning came to his aid, and he made a
very artful speech, directed principally to his unseen hearer.

"Mr. Carden," said he, "this seems to me very shrewd; but surely it
fails in one respect: you leave the man's character out of the account.
Mr. Little came between me and one I love, and inflicted great misery
on me; but I will try and be just to him. I don't believe he was an
impostor of that kind. He was false in love; he had been reared amongst
workmen, and every body says he loved a working-girl more than he did
your daughter; but as for his cheating you or any other person out of
five thousand pounds, I can't believe it. They all say he was as honest
a man in money matters as ever breathed."

"You judge him by yourself. Besides, men begin by deceiving women, but
they go on to--Why, Grace, my poor child--Good heavens! have you--?"

Grace was leaning against the open window, ghastly and terrible.

"Yes," said she haughtily, "I have been guilty of the meanness of
listening, and I suffer for it. It is but one pang more to a broken
heart. Mr. Coventry, you are just, you are generous; and I will try and
reward you for those words. No, papa, no impostor, but a man sore tried,
sore tempted. If he is alive, we shall soon know."

"How?"

"He will write--TO JAEL DENCE."

Having uttered this strange speech, she rushed away with a wild cry of
agony, and nobody