ad never noticed either him or us by word or
by look. I was curious, and asked many questions about him. She told me
he had married some great lady, the daughter of a duke, and that he had
two sons--Miles, the eldest, and Cecil. I remembered having heard of
Cecil's death, but never dreamed that it could affect me.

Moreland & Paine! I knew the firm very well; they had large offices in
Lincoln's Inn, and bore a high reputation. Suddenly my heart stood
still. Why, of course, it was a jest--a sorry jest of one of my fellow
clerks. There they were, looking at me with eager, wondering eyes--of
course it was a jest. My heart almost ceased to beat, and I caught my
breath with something like a sob.

They should not laugh at me; they should not read what was passing in my
mind.

I put the letter calmly and deliberately in my pocket and opened my
ledger. I fancied they looked disappointed. Ah! it was but a jest; I
would not think of it.

I worked hard until the dinner hour, and then asked permission to absent
myself for a time. Dinner was not in my thoughts, but I went quickly as
I could walk to the office of Moreland & Paine.

CHAPTER II.

Mr. Paine was not in. Mr. Moreland was in his office. I went up the
stairs, trembling, fearful of being abused for stupidity in taking the
least notice of such a letter.

Mr. Moreland looked up when the clerk announced my name--looked up,
bowed and positively rose from his seat. I took the letter from my
pocket.

"I received this this morning, but, believing it to be a jest played
upon me, I have not mentioned it. I have called to ask you if you know
anything of it."

He took the letter from me with a strange smile.

"I wrote it myself last evening," he said, and I looked at him
bewildered.

Good heaven! it was all true. To this moment I do not know how I bore
the shock. I remember falling into a chair, Mr. Moreland standing over
me with a glass of something in his hand, which he forced me to drink.

"Your fortune has a strange effect upon you," he said, kindly.

"I cannot believe it!" I cried, clasping his hand. "I cannot realize it!
I have been working so hard--so hard for one single sovereign--and now,
you say, I am rich!"

"Now, most certainly," he replied, "you are Sir Edgar Trevelyan, master
of Crown Anstey and a rent roll of ten thousand a year."

I am not ashamed to confess that when I heard that I bowed my head on my
hands and cried like a child.

"You ha