There was a kind of subdued, snarling tone of vehemence in the utterance of these words by Learmont, that surprised Albert Seyton as much as the words themselves were unexpected. After a moment’s pause he replied,— “Sir, I scarce know how to answer you. I am, it is true, poor, friendless, and an orphan; I have met with ingratitude when I should have met friendship; cold indifference instead of ardent sympathy; but, sir, I thank Heaven that poor, nearly destitute as I am, my heart is light as thistle-down in its innocence of wrong, and from my inmost soul do I look up to and acknowledge that Providence that watches over all. You have jested with me, sir.” “In truth have I,” said Learmont; “it is my custom with a stranger, heed it not. When I want a moral, religious, and light-hearted secretary, you may be assured that I will send for you, young man.” A pang of disappointment shot across the heart of Albert Seyton as Learmont spoke, and he replied sadly,— “Farewell, sir, you will send for me in vain. This day, if unaccepted by you, I enter the ranks as a soldier.” “Indeed, are you so hardly pressed?” “Heaven knows I am indeed. For myself, sir, I care not, but in my fate is involved that of another.” “What other?” said Learmont. “Alas, sir, the tale is long, and its telling useless.” “Young man,” said Learmont earnestly, “there is a matter in which I could give you good employment, but it is one requiring secresy, prudence, and deep caution.” “If it be honourable, sir,” said Seyton, “I will freely undertake it were it beset with dangers.” “’Tis a reach above honourable,” said Learmont. “The object is absolutely pious.” This was said in so strange a tone that Albert was puzzled to make up his mind if it were sincere or honourable, and he remained silent, expecting Learmont to go on with what he was saying. “It is a trifling service,” said Learmont, “and yet by trifles I ever estimate good service. I fear me, much, young man, that in this great city there is great wickedness.” “No doubt,” said Albert, “and I should not object to any service that had for its end a righteous object.” “Sagely and wisely spoken, young sir,” said Learmont; “I give away large sums to those who are in want, and some days since there came to me a man who told a piteous tale, in which there were, however, some glaring discrepancies. I relieved his wants, real or pretended, and sent a servant to follow him home for two objects; first, to ascertain if he had given his true place of abode to me, and, secondly, to enable me to make inquiry into his real condition, in order that I might expose him as an impostor, or grant him further relief. You understand me?” “I do, sir.” “Good. The man I sent was foiled. He did not succeed in tracing him to his home. With much doublings and windings he eluded all pursuit. This man then I wish you to track to his abode;—Have you tact for such an enterprise?” “Methinks ’tis very easy,” said Albert. “And you will do it?”