remarked curtly, yet smiling again, and extending
his hand for it. "I suppose one of Earl Pomfret's children had trodden
on the tail of the old maid's poodle--she lived with him it seems--and
offended her beyond repair, or something similar had occurred, to make
her change her intentions, which were at first all in his favor, and
revoke her first bequest."

"Mr. Mainwaring does not say so," I remarked, again glancing over his
letter. "He merely observes that it is only important to send a copy of
the codicil, since it revokes all previous bequests. How did you know
her first intentions--have there been other letters?"

"I suppose so," he replied, coloring slightly, "but what a lawyer you
are! I scarcely know how I got the idea, to be frank with you; it may be
incorrect after all, but Evelyn will tell you every thing, of course,
when she comes."

"Let me see the codicil again, Mr. Bainrothe," and I examined it once
more closely, as if by some fascination I could not resist. I remarked
only one peculiarity in the document. One word was written in a cramped
manner, as though space had been wanting--yet much of the sheet of paper
on which it appeared was unoccupied--this was the word "thirty," at the
beginning of the enumeration of moneys, for thirty thousand pounds
(repeated below in figures) was the sum set forth in the codicil as the
bequest of the Lady Frances Pomfret to her niece Evelyn Erle! The five
numerals that represented the same idea as the written words occupied
half of the last portion of the last line, and seemed to my invidious
eyes to make an ostentatious display of the power that may lie in a
cipher, or an array thereof.

I gloated over the record, with something perhaps of that spirit which
may have lurked in my blood, from the time of Jacob, and which, so far,
had not evinced itself, except perhaps on that occasion when my ear
thrilled to the music of falling gold.

As I gazed, I mused on the strange fate that took from one sister to
enrich the other so providentially, as it might have seemed.

The paper had fallen from my nerveless hand before I knew it, and I was
aroused from reverie by Claude's action in stooping for it, and his
voice saying:

"I will fold up this record, Miriam; it seems to render you gloomy."

"Thoughtful, certainly," I said, recovering myself, with that impulse of
self-command that belonged to me by nature; "no more--not envious,
Claude, I assure you, however appearances m