er own epistles to him remained unacknowledged.
Fordyce's people could not trace him, neither could Mr. Dunn, and there
was actually the thought of asking the aid of that inquisitorial service
whose detective energies are generally directed in the pursuit of guilt.

If Annesley Beecher might be slow to acknowledge the claims of fraternal
affection, there was no one could accuse him of any lukewarmness to his
own interests, and though it was now two months and upwards since the
Viscount's death, yet he had never come forward to assert his new rank
and station. Whatever suspicions might have weighed down the mind of the
Viscountess regarding this mysterious disappearance, the language of all
the lawyers' letters was assuredly ill calculated to assuage. They more
than hinted that they suspected some deep game of treachery and fraud.
Beecher's long and close intimacy with the worst characters of the
turf--men notorious for their agency in all the blackest intrigues--was
continually brought up. His life of difficulty and strait, his unceasing
struggle to meet his play engagements, driving him to the most ruinous
compacts, all were quoted to show that to a man of such habits and with
such counsellors any compromise would be acceptable that offered present
and palpable advantages in lieu of a possible and remote future.

The very last letter the Viscountess received from Fordyce contained
this startling passage: "It being perfectly clear that Mr. Beecher would
only be too ready to avail himself of his newly acquired privileges if
he could, we must direct our sole attention to those circumstances which
may explain why he could not declare himself the Viscount Lackington.
Now, the very confident tone lately assumed by the Conway party seems
to point to this mysterious clew, and everything I learn more and more
disposes me to apprehend a shameful compromise."

It was with the letter that contained this paragraph before her Lady
Lackington now sat, affecting to be engaged in her work, but in reality
reading over, for the fiftieth time, the same gloomy passage.

"Is it not incredible that, constituted as the world now is, with
its railroads and its telegraphs, you cannot immediately discover the
whereabouts of any missing individual?" said Lady Lackington.

"I really think he must have been murdered," said Lady Grace, with
the gentlest of accents, while she bent her head over the beautiful
altar-cloth she was embroidering.

"N