oundrel, and the first glimpse from the lantern,
and your voice, convinced me. Thank God, Japhet, but I have been of
some use to you, at all events."

"My dear Tim, you have, indeed, and you know me too well, to think I
shall ever forget it; but now I must first ascertain where the will of
the late Sir William is to be found. We can read it for a shilling, and
then I may discover what are the grounds of Melchior's conduct, for, to
me, it is still inexplicable."

"Are wills made in Ireland registered here, or at Doctors' Commons in
London."

"In Dublin, I should imagine."

But on my arrival at Dublin I felt so ill, that I was obliged to retire
to bed, and before morning I was in a violent fever. Medical assistance
was sent for, and I was nursed by Timothy with the greatest care, but it
was ten days before I could quit my bed. For the first time, I was
sitting in an easy chair by the fire, when Timothy came in with the
little portmanteau I had left in the care of Mrs McShane. "Open it,
Timothy," said I, "and see if there be anything in the way of a note
from them." Timothy opened the portmanteau, and produced one, which was
lying on the top. It was from Kathleen, and as follows:--

"Dear Sir,--They say there is terrible work at the castle, and that
Sir Henry has blown out his brains, or cut his throat, I don't know
which. Mr McDermott passed in a great hurry, but said nothing to
anybody here. I will send you word of what has taken place as soon as
I can. The morning after you went away, I walked up to the castle and
gave the key to the lady, who appeared in a great fright at Sir Henry
not having been seen for so long a while. They wished to detain me
after they had found him in the cellar with the dead man, but after
two hours I was desired to go away, and hold my tongue. It was after
the horses went back that Sir Henry is said to have destroyed himself.
I went up to the castle, but McDermott had given orders for no one to
be let in on any account.

"Yours,

"Kathleen McShane."

"This is news, indeed," said I, handing the letter to Timothy. "It must
have been my threatening letter which has driven him to this mad act."

"Very likely," replied Timothy; "but it was the best thing the scoundrel
could do, after all."

"The letter was not, however, written, with that intention. I wished to
frighten him, and have justice done to little Fleta--poor child! how
glad I shall be