MRS. HADDAN'S HISTORY.

IN FOUR CHAPTERS. CHAPTER II.

"MY dear," said Mr. Newill, in a very
feeling tone, when we were alone together;
"I could not say what I have to say
before that fine young fellow, with his
mother sitting by. I am convinced that
George Haddan was never married. We
were most intimate friends, and he would
never have kept it a secret from me. He
only did what hundreds of young men do
and repent of it bitterly afterwards."

"Man does strange things," I said, my
heart sinking very low.

"So he does," replied Mr. Newill, smiling,"
so he does, my dear girl. But George
would have concealed nothing from me. I
said so to Mr. James with your father's
letter lying before me on this very table.
Depend upon it, poor Mrs. Haddan is only
trying to save her character."

"But supposing it is all as she says," I
urged, "is there any motive strong enough
for preserving those documents instead of
destroying them?"

"There might be," he said musingly.
"Yes, there is a strong motive. In the first
place, Mr. James Haddan himself is dead."

"Dead!" I echoed.

"Yes; and he has left an only son, Lewis,
a delicate boy, whose life is not at all
certain. He cannot make a will till he is of
age, and if he should die before then the
estate goes to another branch of the
Haddans. Of course old Mrs. Haddan hates
them with all her heart. It was only the
other day they consulted me about some
strange threats of hers. She had told them
not to make too sure of the inheritance;
there might be heirs in America. I set
them quite at ease about that."

We both sat quiet for a while, thinking
it all over. I knew nothing of this dowager
Mrs. Haddan, but I felt that to some
women hatred alone would be motive
enough for preserving papers dangerous to
themselves. If this last heir, Lewis, died,
then George would come into his rights,
but if he lived long enough to make his
will, the documents would be destroyed.

"I wish I knew Mrs. Haddan," I said,
looking wistfully into Mr. Newill's face,
"without her knowing who I was."

"It would be unfair," he answered;
and yet——"

I could see that he had his doubts of the
dowager Mrs. Haddan, who had been the
enemy of his old friend; and I urged my
point till I succeeded. Only to satisfy
me, he said that George had kept no such
secret from him, if I could find any means
of getting at the truth. The next week
arrived an invitation for me to visit Mrs.
Newill, and I went, telling no one of my
plans. The place where they lived was in
Essex, within a few miles of London, but
in a country as deliciously rural as if it
had been a hundred miles away. Haddan
Lodge was not far from their house
passed it in our drive before dinner. It
was a large, massive, red-brick building
with no special beauty about it, except
the grand old oaks, just coming into leaf,
which surrounded it. It might be my
future home. Mrs. Newill was alone with me,
and I could not refrain from telling her our
story. From that moment she was my
firm ally.

I saw old Mrs Haddan for the first time
in church next Sunday. She was a stately,
patrician-looking dame of about sixty, with
a crown of snow-white hair, and a clear
creamy complexion. She sailed
magnificently up the aisle, preceded by a thin,