both to her
husband and his old step-sister!

"Any man may feel interested in her now," thought Valentine, excusing
himself to himself for the glow of admiring tenderness that filled his
heart. "Sweet thing! Oh! what a fool I have been!"

There was little conversation; the ladies were in mourning, and merely
asked a few questions as to the arrangements of the late relative's
affairs. Brandon sat at the head of the table, and his wife at his
right hand. There was something very cordial in his manner, but such an
evident turning away from any mention of having sent for him, that
Valentine, perceiving the matter to be private, followed his lead, and
when breakfast was over went with him up-stairs to his long room; at the
top of the house, his library and workshop.

"Now, then," he exclaimed, when at last the door was shut and they were
alone, "I suppose I may speak? What can it be, old fellow, that induced
you to send for me at a time so peculiarly inconvenient to John?"

"It was partly something that I read in a newspaper," answered Giles,
"and also--also a letter. A letter that was left in my care by your
father."

"Oh! then you were to give it to me after my uncle's death, were you?"

For all answer Giles said, "There it is," and Valentine, following his
eyes, saw a sealed parcel, not unlike in shape and size to the one he
had already opened that morning. It was lying on a small, opened desk.
"Take your time, my dear fellow," said Giles, "and read it carefully. I
shall come up again soon, and tell you how it came into my possession."

Thereupon he left the room, and Valentine, very much surprised, advanced
to the table.

The packet was not directed to any person, but outside it was written in
Brandon's clear hand, "Read by me on the 3rd of July, 18--, and sealed
up the following morning. G.B."

Valentine sat down before it, broke his brother's seal, and took out a
large letter, the seal of which (his father's) had already been broken.
It was addressed, in his father's handwriting, "Giles Brandon, Esq.,
Wigfield House."

We are never so well inclined to believe in a stroke of good fortune as
when one has just been dealt to us. Valentine was almost sure he was
going to read of something that would prove to be to his advantage. His
uncle had behaved so strangely in providing him with his last bounty,
that it was difficult for him not to connect this letter with that gift.
Something might have been made over to