ng her forehead.

"Freddy!" says she in a rather strange tone.

"What?" says he quickly. "No more bad news I hope."

"Oh, no! Oh, yes! I can't quite make it out--but--I'm afraid my poor
uncle is dead."

"Your uncle?"

"Yes, yes. My father's brother. I think I told you about him. He went
abroad years ago, and we--Joyce and I, believed him dead a long time
ago, long before I married you even--but now----Come here and read it.
It is worded so oddly that it puzzles me."

"Let me see it," says Monkton.

He sinks into an easy-chair, and drags her down on to his knee, the
better to see over her shoulder. Thus satisfactorily arranged, he begins
to read rapidly the letter she holds up before his eyes.

"Yes, dead indeed," says he sotto voce. "Go on, turn over; you mustn't
fret about that, you know. Barbara--er--er--" reading. "What's this? By
Jove!"

"What?" says his wife anxiously. "What is the meaning of this horrid
letter, Freddy?"

"There are a few people who might not call it horrid," says Monkton,
placing his arm round her and rising from the chair. He is looking very
grave. "Even though it brings you news of your poor uncle's death, still
it brings you too the information that you are heiress to about a
quarter of a million!"

"What!" says Barbara faintly. And then, "Oh no. Oh! nonsense! there must
be some mistake!"

"Well, it sounds like it at all events. 'Sad occurrence,'
h'm--h'm----" reading. "'Co-heiresses. Very considerable fortune.'" He
looks to the signature of the letter. "Hodgson & Fair. Very respectable
firm! My father has had dealings with them. They say your uncle died in
Sydney, and has left behind him an immense sum of money. Half a million,
in fact, to which you and Joyce are co-heiresses."

"There must be a mistake," repeats Barbara, in a low tone. "It seems too
like a fairy tale."

"It does. And yet, lawyers like Hodgson & Fair are not likely to be led
into a cul-de-sac. If----" he pauses, and looks earnestly at his wife.
"If it does prove true, Barbara, you will be a very rich woman."

"And you will be rich with me," she says, quickly, in an agitated tone.
"But, but----"

"Yes; it does seem difficult to believe," interrupts he, slowly. "What a
letter!" His eyes fall on it again, and she, drawing close to him, reads
it once more, carefully.

"I think there is truth in it," says she, at last. "It sounds more like
being all right, more reasonable, when read a second time. Freddy----"