“Told her! I should think I have. Was it not for the pleasure of that moment that I came here,--here, where they could arrest me this instant and send me off to the fortress of Rastadt? I shot an Austrian officer in the garrison there four years ago.” “I heard of it,” groaned Beecher, from the utmost depth of his heart “So that she knows it all?” “She knows that you are a peer of England, and that she is a peeress.” Beecher looked at the man as he spoke, and never before did he appear to him so insufferably insolent and vulgar. Traits which he had in part forgotten or overlooked now came out in full force, and he saw him in all the breadth of his coarseness. As if he had read what was passing in Beecher's mind, Davis stared fully at him, resolute and defiant. “I suppose,” resumed Grog, “it was a pleasure you had reserved for yourself to inform her Ladyship of her step in rank, but I thought she'd just like to hear the news as well from her father.” Beecher made no answer, but sat buried in thought; at last he said: “Mr. Twining, whom I met accidentally last night, told me of my brother's death, and told me, besides, that it had occurred fully eight weeks ago.” “So long as that!” said Davis, dryly. “Yes, so long as that,” said Beecher, fixing his eyes steadfastly on the other. “He tells me, too, that Lady Lackington wrote twice, or even thrice, to urge me to come on to Italy; that my arrival was looked for hourly. Many other letters were also sent after me, but not one reached my hand. Strange, very strange!” “I suppose you have them all there now,” said Grog, defiantly, as he pointed to the mass of letters on the dressing-table. “No, these are all of recent dates, and refer, besides, to others which I have never got.” “What has become of the others, then?” asked Grog, resolutely. “That's the very point _I_ cannot decide, and it is the very question I was about to ask of _you_.” “What do you mean?” said Grog, calmly. “What I mean is this,” said Beecher, “that I am curious to learn how long it is since you knew of my brother's death?” “If you 'd like to hear when I suspected that fact, perhaps I can tell you,” said Grog. “Well, let me hear so much.” “It was shortly after your arrival at Holbach.” “Ah! I thought so--I thought as much!” cried Beecher triumphantly. “Wait a bit,--wait a bit; don't be sure you have won the game, I 've a card in my hand yet. When you endorsed certain large bills for Lazarus Stein at Aix, you signed your name 'Lackington.' Oh, there's no denying it, I have them here in this pocket-book. Now, either your brother was dead, or you committed a forgery.” “You know well, sir,” said Beecher, haughtily, “at whose instance and persuasion I wrote myself Lackington.'”