independent act, and in such a condition that the
law would recognise its acts as valid," he
observed.

"The law gives the same award as his
wishes," said Martha, steadily. "His only
children, we share alike; and it is not probable
that we shall ever have divided interests."

"I think you labour under a mistake," said
Faber; "the law"— emphatically— will award
differently."

"Hester, my dear, go and see if dinner is
nearly ready," said Martha to her sister. "I
dare say Mr. Todyeare" (neither had called the
other cousin yet, and he had not given them
any name at all) "will dine with us while his
horse is resting."

And Faber smiled, and looked at Hester
graciously, and said, "Yes, he would remain very
gladly," and thanked them for their kindness.

When they were alone, Martha, turning to
her cousin, said abruptly: "So, you have come
to dispute the property, Mr. Todyeare?"

He bowed.

"I have come to claim it," he replied; "there
are no grounds for dispute. You know as well
as I, that the law does not recognise a man's
illegitimate children, however openly he may
have done so. Had your father wished you to
inherit his property, he would have made a will
while sane and capable of managing his own
affairs; with a will of late date— since his mind
went, or with none at all, your claims are
absolutely worthless. I am sorry to speak with such
seeming harshness, but you are a woman to
whom, I am sure, one can speak of business
matters plainly."

"I told you in my letter that you were
mistaken," returned Martha. "My mother was
lawfully married, nearly two years before I was
born."

He shrugged hie shoulders, and again smiled.

"I have the certificate," said Martha, flushing
a little, and speaking with a certain hurried
and peremptory accent; "and this."

She pointed to a ruby ring she wore, inside
which was engraved her mother's name, her
father's, and the date of their marriage, with
"married" set against the date. Perhaps not
of much value as legal evidence, but of infinite
preciousness to Martha, as it had been to her
mother.

"What is that?" asked Faber, contemptuously.
"Allow me," and he held out his hand
for it.

She drew it from her finger, and gave it to
him, calling his attention to the letters inside.
He looked at it intently, both at the engraving
and the stone, for it was a balass ruby of large
size, and intrinsically worth much. Then he
gave it back to her with a smile, shaking his
head, as he said:

"Counsel would say, 'the clever dodge of an
artful woman.' If your claims rest on no more
solid foundation than this, and if your proofs
are of no greater legal value, the question will
soon be decided."

"You forget the certificate," said Martha.

"Ah! the certificate! That is something
more to your purpose. Yes, I confess I should
like to look at this certificate, if you will allow
me; it is the first time I have heard of it, and
I am curious."

"You shall see it," Martha said loftily; and
they both walked across the lawn, and through
the opened French window into the drawing-
room, where Martha left him, while she went
up-stairs to her own room for those sacred
"marriage lines," which were her own and her
sister's all.

"You keep this in a safe place, I suppose?"
asked Faber, carelessly, while examining it, with
even more attention than he gave to the ring.

"Yes," Martha answered; "it is never out of
my own possession: I keep it with my
valuables in my own room."

"Ah! the best place," said Faber.

After turning the paper about, and looking
at it in every light, as if he would have detected
a forgery in the very substance of the paper
itself— after counting up dates, and comparing
handwritings, knitting his brows with anxious
meaning as he was slowly and reluctantly
obliged to acknowledge the truth, Faber handed
back the certificate, and pronounced himself
satisfied; thanking his kind cousin— he called
her cousin now— for her patience and candour,
and begging her to dismiss from her mind all
remembrance of the fact that he had ever been
so misled by ignorance and common report as
to doubt the exact legality of their condition.
He was very glad he had come himself, he said,
and had made personal acquaintance with his
cousins: he thought it so much the best thing
to do at all times, and nothing was ever lost
by frankness and candour. If he had
delegated this task to a lawyer, what a bungle
would have been made of it! but now,
everything was as clear as daylight, and there was
no possibility of further mistake remaining.
They had all done their duty, and was not that
a pleasure to think of? He then wound up a
slightly too florid oration by inviting them both
to Greymoor; where, at least, he could promise
them a somewhat different kind of prospect—
laughing— to what they had here, for save in
their own garden, there was not a tree nearer
than a day's journey!

To which Martha replied, a little bluntly,
perhaps, but good naturedly enough, that she and
her sister were not much given to visiting, or
great runaways from home. Then she added:
"My sister knows nothing of the doubts which
were thrown upon our mother's marriage; of
what good to perplex and distress one so young
and innocent?"

And Faber said, "Of what good?" too; and
commended her wise care with almost
enthusiastic appreciation. Dinner being ready, he
asked his kind cousin's leave to go up-stairs to
make his toilette.

It was a pleasant house, he said, when he
returned, and capital rooms; and the conversation
fell upon the size and disposition of them, all in
the most natural and easy manner possible; and