to Charles.

"I am almost inclined to think," said the latter, "that some of these
things are really of considerable value; but I do not I profess to be an
accurate judge, and, perhaps, I am more taken with the beauty of an
article, than the intrinsic worth. What is that which you have just
taken from the box?"

"It seems a half-mask," said Henry, "made of silk; and here are initial
letters within it--M. B."

"To what do they apply?"

"Marmaduke Bannerworth, my father."

"I regret I asked you."

"Nay, Charles, you need not. Years have now elapsed since that misguided
man put a period to his own existence, in the gardens of Bannerworth
Hall. Of course, the shock was a great one to us all, although I must
confess that we none of us knew much of a father's affections. But time
reconciles one to these dispensations, and to a friend, like yourself, I
can talk upon these subjects without a pang."

He laid down the mask, and proceeded further in his search in the old
box.

Towards the bottom of it there were some books, and, crushed in by the
side of them, there was an ancient-looking pocket-book, which Charles
pointed out, saying,--

"There, Henry, who knows but you may find a fortune when you least
expect it?"

"Those who expect nothing," said Henry, "will not be disappointed. At
all events, as regards this pocket-book, you see it is empty."

"Not quite. A card has fallen from it."

Charles took up the card, and read upon it the name of Count Barrare.

"That name," he said, "seems familiar to me. Ah! now I recollect, I have
read of such a man. He flourished some twenty, or five-and-twenty years
ago, and was considered a _roue_ of the first water--a finished
gamester; and, in a sort of brief memoir I read once of him, it said
that he disappeared suddenly one day, and was never again heard of."

"Indeed! I'm not puzzled to think how his card came into my father's
pocket-book. They met at some gaming-house; and, if some old pocket-book
of the Count Barrare's were shaken, there might fall from it a card,
with the name of Mr. Marmaduke Bannerworth upon it."

"Is there nothing further in the pocket-book--no memoranda?"

"I will look. Stay! here is something upon one of the leaves--let me
see--'Mem., twenty-five thousand pounds! He who robs the robber, steals
little; it was not meant to kill him: but it will be unsafe to use the
money for a time--my brain seems on fire--the remotest hiding-place in
the house i