ingly, and on the morrow the will was read. Except for a
legacy of L10,000 to his only brother, Silas Ruthyn, and a few minor
legacies to relations and servants, my father had left his whole estate
to me, appointing my Uncle Silas my sole guardian, with full parental
authority over me until I should have reached the age of twenty-one, up
to which time I was to reside under his care at Bartram-Haugh, with the
sum of L2,000 paid yearly to him for my suitable maintenance and
education.

I was startled by the expression of cousin Monica's face. She looked
ghastly and angry.

"To whom," she asked, with an effort, "will the property belong in
case--in case my cousin should die before she comes of age?"

"To the next heir, her uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn. He's both heir-at-law
and next-of-kin," replied the attorney.

She was anxious to persuade my uncle to relinquish his guardianship to
her; but the evening of the funeral a black-bordered letter came from
him, bidding me remain at Knowl until he could arrange for my journey to
him. There was a postscript, which made my cheek tingle.

"Pray present my respects to Lady Knollys, who, I understand, is
sojourning at Knowl. I would observe that a lady who cherishes, I have
reason to fear, unfriendly feelings against your uncle is not the most
desirable companion for his ward. But, upon the express condition that I
am not made the subject of your discussions, I do not interpose to bring
your intercourse to an immediate close."

"Did I ever hear! Well, if this isn't impertinent!" exclaimed Lady
Knollys. "I did not intend to talk about him, but now I _will_." And so
it was that I heard the story of that enigmatical person--martyr, angel,
demon--Uncle Silas, with whom my fate was now so strangely linked.

It was twenty years ago. He was not a reformed rake, but a ruined one
then. My father had helped him again and again, until his marriage with
a barmaid. After that he allowed him five hundred a year, and the use of
his estate of Bartram-Haugh. Then Mr. Charke, a gentleman of the turf,
who was staying with my uncle for Doncaster Races, was found dead in his
room--he had committed suicide by cutting his throat. And Uncle Silas
was suspected of having killed him.

This wretched Mr. Charke had won heavy wagers at the races from Uncle
Silas, and at night they had played very deep at cards. Next morning his
servant could not enter his room; it was locked on the inside, the
window was fa