must be unmasked. Who knows but they
are involved? What plan are they devising to save those mouldering
towers?"

A long train of reflections passed through Esther's mind as she lay
awake that night. In the morning she summoned Michael Sinson to her
presence. The young man was already considerably improved in
appearance, had lost his rusticity, and acquired a manner "free and
easy," with a very excellent opinion of himself. The change might be
partly due to certain vague aspirations which pleased his vanity, and
at the same time sharpened his natural foresight and cunning. He was
abject in deference towards his patroness.

"Sinson," said she, when he came before her, "you know Mr. Trevethlan
well?"

"Certainly, ma'am; from his very cradle."

"They say, he is abroad."

He noted the words--they say. "Yes, ma'am."

"There is a Mr. Winter, a lawyer, living at Hampstead," Mrs. Pendarrel
continued. "He has some friend remarkably like what I should
expect...young Trevethlan to be. I desire to find out who this person
is, and what are his pursuits. Be so good as to inquire, if you can.
Good morning, Sinson."

But the peasant lingered.

"Did you ever hear, ma'am," he said, brushing his hat, and casting
down his eyes, "that the late Mr. Trevethlan's marriage was not
regular?"

Mrs. Pendarrel lost no word of the slow-spoken insinuation. Every
nerve of her body quivered, but she was silent.

"It was no blame to my unfortunate relation, ma'am," Sinson proceeded;
"but the report was very common, I have heard, at Trevethlan, soon
after the time."

"Pshaw! sir," Esther said, having now mastered her emotion; "common
fame is a common liar. Good-day to you."

And Michael departed, well aware that his patroness suspected this
friend of Mr. Winter to be no other than the heir of Trevethlan, and
believing also that he had sent a shaft home to her heart, which might
further the projects lurking dimly in his own. The more he advanced in
her confidence the greater became his own assurance, and he now
quitted the house in May Fair, with a certain exultation gleaming in
his dark sinister eyes.

He had already supposed that he might find a subordinate instrument of
use to him, and had even selected his man. He mingled now and then in
the promiscuous assembly of vice and folly which met at the Argyll
Rooms. There he had occasionally thrown away a guinea--he was
liberally supplied with money--at hazard and had played at the same