“Well, Davis, old fellow,--the best and truest friend ever fellow had in the world,--now what's all this about? I 'll tell you every syllable that passed between Dunn and myself. I'll give you my oath, as solemnly as you can dictate it to me, not to conceal one word. He made me swear never to mention it. It was _he_ that imposed the condition on me. What he said was this: 'It's a case where you need no counsel, and where any counsel would be dangerous. He who once knows your secret will be in a position to dictate to you. Lord Lackington must be your only adviser, since his peril is the same as your own.'” “Go on,” said Davis, sternly, as the other seemed to pause too long. Beecher drew a long breath, and, in a voice faint and broken, continued: “It's a claimant to the title,--a fellow who pretends he derives from the elder branch,--the Conway Beechers. All stuff and nonsense,--they were extinct two hundred years ago,--but no matter, the claim is there, and so circumstantially got up, and so backed by documents and the rest of it, that Lackington is frightened,--frightened out of his wits. The mere exposure, the very rumor of the thing, would distract _him_. He's proud as Lucifer,--and then he's hard up; besides, he wants a loan, and Dunn tells him there's no getting it till this affair is disposed of, and that he has hit on the way to do it.” “As how?” said Davis, dryly. “Well,” resumed Beecher, whose utterance grew weaker and less audible at every word, “Lackington, you know, has no children. It 's very unlikely he ever will now; and Dunn's advice is that for a life interest in the title and estates I should bind myself not to marry. That fellow then, if he can make good his claim, comes in as next of kin after _me_; and as to who or what comes after _me_,” cried he, with more energy, “it matters devilish little. Once 'toes up' and Annesley Beecher won't fret over the next match that comes off,--eh, Grog, old fellow?” And he endeavored by a forced jocularity to encourage his own sinking heart. “Here's a shindy!” said Grog, as he mixed himself a fresh tumbler and laid his arms crosswise on the table; “and so it's no less than the whole stakes is on this match?” “Title and all,” chimed in Beecher. “I was n't thinking of the title,” said Grog, gruffly, as he relapsed into a moody silence. “Now, what does my Lord say to it all?” asked he, after a long pause. “Lackington?--Lackington says nothing, or next to nothing. You read the passage in his letter where he says, 'Call on Dunn,' or 'Speak to Dunn,' or something like that,--he did n't even explain about what; and then you may remember the foolish figure we cut on that morning we waited on Dunn ourselves, not being able to say why or how we were there.” “I remember nothing about cutting a foolish figure anywhere or any time. It's not very much _my_ habit. It ain't _my_ way of business.”