_S. Plowman, Esq., Solicitor, Girdle, Oxon._ If to be told that the Probate Divorce and Admiralty Division of the High Court of Justice will be prepared to award you a mansion in Town, an estate in Dorsetshire--each of them, as they say, ready to walk into--and nearly three-quarters of a million of money, is to receive a communication to your great financial advantage, then Bulrush & Co. had not overstated their case. There was no doubt about it, Anthony's ship was signalled. The pilot was going aboard. Very soon the galleon would be in the stream. If the double journey had proved too much for John Forest, so that the prelate was compelled to rest before returning to England, at least he had sent the will by registered post. This in due season had been produced to the testator's solicitor, a benevolent gentleman of the Old School, who, after an interview with Sir Giles Molehill and Blithe at the Royal Courts of Justice, was entirely satisfied regarding its validity. Indeed, his anxiety to wash his hands of the usurper was almost voluble. "And I may say, my lord, that I more than once spoke very warmly to my client about that iniquitous proviso which he made me insert. But, as your lordship knows, a testator has always been permitted to indulge his utmost eccentricity, and my words fell upon deaf ears. He was a difficult man, sir, was Jonathan Roach. But when the time came, and I had to break the news to young Lyveden, it was a sorry business. I'm heartily thankful it's going to be put right." "I hope it is, Mr. Orphan," had replied the Judge. "But we've still got to find our protégé. That I must leave to you and Blithe to pull off. I've done my part. But you must keep me informed, for I'm determined to be in at the death." The two attorneys had promised faithfully, and left the Judge smiling. Benevolence and shrewdness seldom go hand-in-hand, and his lordship's words had contained a subtle instruction to Blithe to shepherd his elderly brother and not to retire from the case. The flick of an eyelid had disclosed Blithe's reception of the hint. With what result, we know. And that is the sum of my arrears, gentlemen. Henceforth, if you please, you shall find the street of narrative straight as a French highway, with hill and dale certainly, but none of your hairpin corners to send you doubling upon your tracks. * * * * * It was eleven o'clock of a Sunday morning. Never was an hour more melodiously announced. The diverse tongues of Oxford insisted upon its arrival for fully five minutes. Indeed, the harmonious argument, which had begun as his lordship's car was nearing Magdalen Bridge, was still in progress when the great grey limousine swung out of St. Giles's and on to the Woodstock road.