at horrid
name because of the title. I suppose I'd better send the letter to
the lawyer."

"Send it to the lawyer, of course. That is what he would have done.
They tell me that the trial is to be on the 24th of June. Why should
they postpone it so long? They know all about it. They always
postpone everything. If he had lived, there would be an end of that
before long."

Lady Eustace was tired of the virtues of her friend's martyred lord,
and was very anxious to talk of her own affairs. She was still
holding her husband's letter open in her hand, and was thinking how
she could force her friend's dead lion to give place for a while
to her own live dog, when a servant announced that Mr. Camperdown,
the attorney, was below. In former days there had been an old Mr.
Camperdown, who was vehemently hostile to poor Lizzie Eustace; but
now, in her new troubles, the firm that had ever been true to her
first husband had taken up her case for the sake of the family and
her property--and for the sake of the heir, Lizzie Eustace's little
boy; and Mr. Camperdown's firm had, next to Mr. Bonteen, been the
depository of her trust. He had sent clerks out to Prague,--one who
had returned ill,--as some had said poisoned, though the poison had
probably been nothing more than the diet natural to Bohemians. And
then another had been sent. This, of course, had all been previous
to Madame Goesler's self-imposed mission,--which, though it was
occasioned altogether by the suspected wickednesses of Mr. Emilius,
had no special reference to his matrimonial escapades. And now Mr.
Camperdown was down stairs. "Shall I go down to him, dear Mrs.
Bonteen?"

"He may come here if you please."

"Perhaps I had better go down. He will disturb you."

"My darling lost one always thought that there should be two present
to hear such matters. He said it was safer." Mr. Camperdown, junior,
was therefore shown upstairs to Mrs. Bonteen's drawing-room.

"We have found it all out, Lady Eustace," said Mr. Camperdown.

"Found out what?"

"We've got Madame Mealyus over here."

"No!" said Mrs. Bonteen, with her hands raised. Lady Eustace sat
silent, with her mouth open.

"Yes, indeed;--and photographs of the registry of the marriage
from the books of the synagogue at Cracow. His signature was Yosef
Mealyus, and his handwriting isn't a bit altered. I think we could
have proved it without the lady; but of course it was better to bring
her if possible."

"Where