died suddenly, and that in his last moments he
had expressed an earnest hope that his brother
would assume the charge of his two sons.

A reply was forwarded, requesting that the
boys might immediately repair to their uncle's
house. In due course they arrived. The elder
was a fine handsome youth, wilh frank, engaging
manners; the younger, though handsome also,
was reserved and unsociable, and the regards of
the whole household were quickly centred in the
former, whose gaiety soon dissipated the gloom
of the château.

The younger brother, François, saw, with
concealed jealousy, the decided preference felt
by his uncle and aunt for his elder; nor was
this sentiment likely to have been lessened by a
fact that, before they had resided a year at the
château, had by some means come to his
knowledge—viz. that the whole of the property had
been left to his brother, with the exception of a
sum just sufficient to start him (François) in any
profession he might select in which to earn his
bread.

To the great regret of Monsieur and Madame
Frémont, Cécile, the elder, conceived a passion
for the naval service, and, carrying his point,
quitted the château, taking with him all the
light and mirth it contained.

At first his letters were frequent, teeming
with affection and merriment; then, long
intervals of silence would excite the apprehensions
of his loving friends. The second winter after
his departure was unusually severe, and the
health of the old people began to fail.

One sad morning, François, entering with a
countenance of assumed grief, communicated
the heartrending tidings, received, he said,
through a shipmate of his brother's, that Cécile
had died at sea. Already weakened by illness,
the shock was too much for the kind old people.
Madame Frémont died within a few weeks; and
before the close of the year her husband rejoined
her in the grave, having previously settled all
he possessed upon his surviving nephew.

The latter, now at the height of his ambition,
lorded it grandly over his dependents; and
profound was the regret that the kind, mirthful
Cécile had not lived to occupy the master's
position.

One evening François was sitting alone, moody
and out of sorts, sipping his solitary wine, when
he was startled by a voice speaking without the
window, which looked upon the garden.

Advancing with caution, François demanded
who was there.

"It is I, François!" replied a voice that
blanched the hearer's cheek; but, with trembling
hands, he opened the window, and his brother,
radiant with health and happiness, bounded into
the room. He had intended a surprise for his
relations, of whom (François having intercepted
the correspondence on both sides) he had not
heard for many months.

In one instant François comprehended his
position, and took his resolution. To his
brother's eager inquiries, he answered that their
uncle and aunt, not being quite well, had dined
upstairs, whither, after Cécile had refreshed
himself, they would presently proceed.

Contriving, while Cécile was divesting himself
of his overcoat, to secure the door, François
returned to his brother, and, affecting the
greatest joy at his arrival, encouraged him to
drink and talk until, wearied with excitement
and his journey, the latter sunk into a temporary
doze.

It should be mentioned that, at this time,
some confusion reigned at the château, on
account of alterations that were making in the
house, and which necessitated the removal of a
portion of the wall of the corridor. During
this operation, most of the domestics were
quartered in an outbuilding, some distance off.

No human eye witnessed the manner in which
this true descendant of him that did the first
murder completed what was in his mind. He
presently quitted the room, locking the door,
and desiring that he might be disturbed no more
that night.

When all was still, he crept forth and made
his way to the lodging of the master-mason.
What passed between them was never exactly
known, but, on the following morning, the
mason, assisted by his tempter, contrived to
wall up the remains of the victim, where they
were subsequently discovered.

Tormented by remorse, the form of his
brother ever before him, the wretched criminal
at length dismissed his household, sold the
château, and proceeded to Paris, hoping in that
lively city to drown the remembrance of his
flagrant guilt. But vengeance "suffered him
not to live." A quarrel with the Comte de C.
in a gaming-house led to a meeting next day in
the Bois de Boulogne, in which François was
killed. Singularly enough, among his papers
was found a confession of the murder, though
bearing his assumed name.

The remains of poor Cécile were decently
interred in the cemetery at Geneva. The M.
family continued their residence at Belle D.,
and certainly, up to the time when I (the
narrator) made their acquaintance, nothing
extraordinary had ever again disturbed their
tranquillity.

"Thank you, my love," said Colonel Savage,
suddenly awaking, "very nicely read. Word of
honour—twelve o'clock! Bed, bed!"

MR. CHARLES DICKENS'S READINGS.
MR. CHARLES DICKENS will read at ST. JAMES'S
HALL on Tuesday the 5th, and Tuesday the 12th of June:
those being the last nights of the series.

Shortly will be published, in Three Volumes,
THE SECOND MRS. TILLOTSON.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "NEVER FORGOTTEN."
Tinsley Brothers, 18, Catherine-street, London.

The Right of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAR ROUND is reserved by the Authors.