"Come in," said the player. Mr. Bonnithorne entered and walked to a table in the middle of the floor. Hugh Ritson finished the movement he was playing, and then arose from the organ and drew an easy-chair to the fire. "Brought the deed?" he asked, quietly, Mr. Bonnithorne still standing. "I have, my dear friend, and something yet more important." Hugh glanced up: through his constant smile Mr. Bonnithorne was obviously agitated. Dropping his voice, the lawyer added, "Copies of the three certificates." Hugh smiled faintly. "Good; we will discuss the certificates first," he said, and drew his dressing-gown leisurely about him. Mr. Bonnithorne began to unfold some documents. He paused; his eye was keen and bright; he seemed to survey his dear friend with some perplexity; his glance was shadowed by a certain look of distrust; but his words were cordial and submissive, and his voice was, as usual, low and meek. "What a wonderful man you are. And how changed! It is only a few months since I had to whip up your lagging spirits at a great crisis. And now you leave me far behind. Not the least anxious! How different I am, to be sure. It was this very morning my correspondent sent me the copies, and yet I am here, five miles from home. And when the post arrived I declare to you that such was my eagerness to know if our surmises were right that--" Hugh interrupted in a quick, cold voice: "That you were too nervous to open his letter, and fumbled it back and front for an hour--precisely." Saying this, Hugh lifted his eyes quickly enough to encounter Mr. Bonnithorne's glance, and when they fell again a curious expression was playing about his mouth. "Give me the papers," said Hugh, and he stretched forward his hand without shifting in his seat. "Well, really, you are--really--" Hugh raised his eyes again. Mr. Bonnithorne paused, handed the documents, and shuffled uneasily into a seat. One by one Hugh glanced hastily over three slips of paper. "This is well," he said, quietly. "Well? I should say so, indeed. What could be better? I confess to you that until to-day I had some doubts. Now I have none." "Doubts? So you had doubts?" said Hugh, dryly "They disturbed your sleep, perhaps?" The lurking distrust in Mr. Bonnithorne's eyes openly displayed itself, and he gazed full into the face of Hugh Ritson with a searching look that made little parley with his smile. "Then one may take a man's inheritance without qualm or conviction?" Hugh pretended not to hear, and began to read aloud the certificates in his hand. "Let me see, this is first--Registration of Birth." Mr. Bonnithorne interrupted. "Luckily, very luckily, the registration of birth is first." Hugh read: "Name, Paul. Date of birth, August 14, 1845. Place of birth, Russell Square, London. Father's name, Robert Lowther. Mother's name, Grace Lowther; maiden name, Ormerod." "Then this comes second--Registration of Marriage."