now becomes necessary to place the reader of
these lines— so far as Lady Verinder's Will is
concerned on a footing of perfect equality, in
respect of information, with myself.

Let me state, then, in the fewest possible
words, that Rachel Verinder had nothing but a
life-interest in the property. Her mother's
excellent sense, and my long experience, had
combined to relieve her of all responsibility,
and to guard her from all danger of becoming
the victim in the future of some needy and
unscrupulous man. Neither she, nor her husband
(if she married), could raise sixpence, either
on the property in land, or on the property in
money. They would have the houses in London
and in Yorkshire to live in, and they would have
the handsome income—and that was all.

When I came to think over what I had
discovered, I was sorely perplexed what to do
next.

Hardly a week had passed since I had heard
(to my surprise and distress) of Miss Verinder' s
proposed marriage. I had the sincerest
admiration and affection for her; and I had been
inexpressibly grieved when I heard that she was
about to throw herself away on Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite. And now, here was this man —
whom I had always believed to be a smooth-
tongued impostor justifying the very worst
that I had thought of him, and plainly revealing
the mercenary object of the marriage, on his
side! And what of that?— you may reply—the
thing is done every day. Granted, my dear sir.
But would you think of it quite as lightly as
you do, if the thing was done (let us say) with
your own sister?

The first consideration which now naturally
occurred to me, was this. Would Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite hold to his engagement, after what
his lawyer had discovered for him?

It depended entirely on his pecuniary position,
of which I knew nothing. If that position was
not a desperate one, it would be well worth his
while to marry Miss Verinder for her income
alone. If, on the other hand, he stood in
urgent need of realising a large sum by a given
time, then Lady Verinder's Will would exactly
meet the case, and would preserve her daughter
from falling into a scoundrel's hands.

In the latter event, there would be no need
for me to distress Miss Rachel, in the first days
of her mourning for her mother, by an
immediate revelation of the truth. In the former
event, if I remained silent, I should be
conniving at a marriage which would make her
miserable for life.

My doubts ended in my calling at the hotel
in London, at which I knew Mrs. Ablewhite
and Miss Verinder to be staying. They
informed me that they were going to Brighton
the next day, and that an unexpected obstacle
prevented Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite from
accompanying them. I at once proposed to take
his place. When I was only thinking of Rachel
Verinder, it was possible to hesitate. When I
actually saw her, my mind was made up directly,
come what might of it, to tell her the truth.

I found my opportunity, when I was out
walking with her, on the day after my
arrival.

"May I speak to you," I asked, " about your
marriage engagement?"

"Yes," she said, indifferently, " if you have
nothing more interesting to talk about."

"Will you forgive an old friend and servant
of your family, Miss Rachel, if I venture on
asking whether your heart is set on this
marriage?"

"I am marrying in despair, Mr. Bruff—on
the chance of dropping into some sort of
stagnant happiness which may reconcile me to my
life."

Strong language! and suggestive of
something below the surface, in the shape of a
romance. But I had my own object in view,
and I declined (as we lawyers say) to pursue
the question into its side issues.

"Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite can hardly be of
your way of thinking,"  I said. " His heart
must be set on the marriage, at any rate?"

"He says so, and I suppose I ought to
believe him. He would hardly marry me, after
what I have owned to him, unless he was fond
of me."

Poor thing! the bare idea of a man marrying
her for his own selfish and mercenary ends had
never entered her head. The task I had set
myself began to look like a harder task than I
had bargained for.

"It sounds strangely," I went on, " in my
old-fashioned ears——- "

"What sounds strangely?" she asked.

"To hear you speak of your future husband
as if you were not quite sure of the sincerity
of his attachment. Are you conscious of any
reason in your own mind for doubting him?"

Her astonishing quickness of perception,
detected a change in my voice, or my manner,
when I put that question, which warned her
that I had been speaking all along with some
ulterior object in view. She stopped, and,
taking her arm out of mine, looked me
searchingly in the face.

"Mr. Bruff," she said, "you have something
to tell me about Godfrey Ablewhite.
Tell it."

I knew her well enough to take her at her
word. I told it.

She put her arm again into mine, and walked
on with me slowly. I felt her hand tightening
its grasp mechanically on my arm, and I saw
her getting paler and paler as I went on—but,
not a word passed her lips while I was speaking.
When I had done, she still kept silence.
Her head drooped a little, and she walked by
my side, unconscious of my presence,
unconscious of everything about her; lost—
buried, I might almost say—in her own thoughts.

I made no attempt to disturb her. My
experience of her disposition warned me, on this,
as on former occasions, to give her time.

The first instinct of girls in general, on being
told of anything which interests them, is to
ask a multitude of questions, and then to run