and looked at the row behind. These were
older boxes, and shabbier boxes. The four
first that he examined, were inscribed with
French and German names. The fifth bore
a name which was almost illegible. He brought
it out into the room, and examined it closely.
There, covered thickly with time-stains and
dust, was the name: "Vendale."

The key hung to the box by a string. He
unlocked the box, took out four loose papers
that were in it, spread them open on the table,
and began to read them. He had not so
occupied a minute, when his face fell from its
expression of eagerness and avidity, to one of
haggard astonishment and disappointment. But,
after a little consideration, he copied the papers.
He then replaced the papers, replaced the box,
closed the door, extinguished the candle, and
stole away.

As his murderous and thievish footfall passed
out of the garden, the steps of the notary and
someone accompanying him stopped at the
front door of the house. The lamps were
lighted in the little street, and the notary had
his door-key in his hand.

"Pray do not pass my house, Mr. Bintrey,"
he said. "Do me the honour to come in. It
is one of our town half-holidays—our Tir—but
my people will be back directly. It is droll
that you should ask your way to the Hotel of
me. Let us eat and drink before you go
there."

"Thank you; not to-night," said Bintrey.
"Shall I come to you at ten to-morrow?"

"I shall be enchanted, sir, to take so early
an opportunity of redressing the wrongs of my
injured client," returned the good notary.

"Yes," retorted Bintrey; "your injured
client is all very well—but—a word in your
ear."

He whispered to the notary, and walked off.
When the notary's housekeeper came home, she
found him standing at his door motionless, with
the key still in his hand, and the door unopened.

OBENREIZER'S VICTORY.

The scene shifts again—to the foot of the
Simplon, on the Swiss side.

In one of the dreary rooms of the dreary
little inn at Brieg, Mr. Bintrey and Maître
Voigt sat together at a professional council of
two. Mr. Bintrey was searching in his
despatch-box. Maître Voigt was looking towards a
closed door, painted brown to imitate
mahogany, and communicating with an inner room.

"Isn't it time he was here?" asked the
notary, shifting his position, and glancing at a
second door at the other end of the room,
painted yellow to imitate deal.

"He is here," answered Bintrey, after listening
for a moment.

The yellow door was opened by a waiter,
and Obenreizer walked in.

After greeting Maître Voigt with a cordiality
which appeared to cause the notary no little
embarrassment, Obenreizer bowed with grave
and distant politeness to Bintrey. "For what
reason have I been brought from Neuchâtel to
the foot of the mountain?" he inquired, taking
the seat which the English lawyer had indicated
to him.

"You shall be quite satisfied on that head
before our interview is over," returned Bintrey.
"For the present, permit me to suggest
proceeding at once to business. There has been
a correspondence, Mr. Obenreizer, between
you and your niece. I am here to represent
your niece."

"In other words, you, a lawyer, are here to
represent an infraction of the law."

"Admirably put!" said Bintrey. "If all the
people I have to deal with were only like
you, what an easy profession mine would be!
I am here to represent an infraction of the
law—that is your point of view. I am here to
make a compromise between you and your
niece—that is my point of view."

"There must be two parties to a
compromise," rejoined Obenreizer. "I decline, in this
case, to be one of them. The law gives me
authority to control my niece's actions, until
she comes of age. She is not yet of age; and
I claim my authority."

At this point Maître Voigt attempted to
speak. Bintrey silenced him with a compassionate
indulgence of tone and manner, as if he
was silencing a favourite child.

"No, my worthy friend, not a word. Don't
excite yourself unnecessarily; leave it to me."
He turned, and addressed himself again to
Obenreizer. "I can think of nothing comparable
to you, Mr. Obenreizer, but granite—and
even that wears out in course of time. In the
interests of peace and quietness—for the sake
of your own dignity—relax a little. If you
will only delegate your authority to another
person whom I know of, that person may be
trusted never to lose sight of your niece, night
or day!"

"You are wasting your time and mine,"
returned Obenreizer. "If my niece is not
rendered up to my authority within one week from
this day, I invoke the law. If you resist the
law, I take her by force."

He rose to his feet as he said the last
word. Maître Voigt looked round again
towards the brown door which led into the inner
room.

"Have some pity on the poor girl," pleaded
Bintrey. "Remember how lately she lost her
lover by a dreadful death! Will nothing move
you?"

"Nothing."

Bintrey, in his turn, rose to his feet, and
looked at Maître Voigt. Maître Voigt's hand,
resting on the table, began to tremble. Maître
Voigt's eyes remained fixed, as if by irresistible
fascination, on the brown door. Obenreizer,
suspiciously observing him, looked that way
too.

"There is somebody listening in there!" he
exclaimed, with a sharp backward glance at
Bintrey.

"There are two people listening," answered
Bintrey.