penna, hey? We'll rise again, sir--rise
again on the wing--and, begad, I shouldn't be surprised that you will be
a Baronet before you die."

His words smote Pen. "And it is I," he thought, "that am going to
fling down the poor old fellow's air-castle. Well, it must be. Here
goes.--I--I went into your lodgings at Bury Street, though I did not
find you," Pen slowly began--"and I talked with Morgan, uncle."

"Indeed!" The old gentleman's cheek began to flush involuntarily, and he
muttered, "The cat's out of the bag now, begad!"

"He told me a story, sir, which gave me the deepest surprise and pain,"
said Pen.

The Major tried to look unconcerned. "What--that story
about--about--What-d'-you-call-'em, hey?"

"About Miss Amory's father--about Lady Clavering's first husband, and
who he is, and what."

"Hem--a dev'lish awkward affair!" said the old man, rubbing his nose.
"I--I've been aware of that--eh--confounded circumstance for some time."

"I wish I had known it sooner, or not at all," said Arthur, gloomily.

"He is all safe," thought the Senior, greatly relieved. "Gad! I should
have liked to keep it from you altogether--and from those two poor
women, who are as innocent as unborn babes in the transaction."

"You are right. There is no reason why the two women should hear it;
and I shall never tell them--though that villain, Morgan, perhaps may,"
Arthur said, gloomily. "He seems disposed to trade upon his secret, and
has already proposed terms of ransom to me. I wish I had known of the
matter earlier, sir. It is not a very pleasant thought to me that I am
engaged to a convict's daughter."

"The very reason why I kept it from you--my dear boy. But Miss Amory is
not a convict's daughter, don't you see? Miss Amory is the daughter of
Lady Clavering, with fifty or sixty thousand pounds for a fortune; and
her father-in-law, a Baronet and country gentleman, of high reputation,
approves of the match, and gives up his seat in Parliament to his
son-in-law. What can be more simple?"

"Is it true, sir?"

"Begad, yes, it is true, of course it's true. Amory's dead. I tell
you he is dead. The first sign of life he shows, he is dead. He can't
appear. We have him at a deadlock, like the fellow in the play--the
'Critic,' hey?--dev'lish amusing play, that 'Critic.' Monstrous witty
man, Sheridan; and so was his son. By Gad, sir, when I was at the Cape,
I remember----"

The old gentleman's garrulity, and wish to conduct Arthur t