Kate said nothing; she had seen enough of the second Mrs. Franklyn to create a doubt respecting her suitableness to be a second mother to any children, especially to one so high-spirited as Clara, and she could not tell her uncle of the difficulties already in the way respecting Louisa Franklyn's fortune. Arthur came in presently with his carpet bag in his hand, to wish them farewell. "I have said good-by to the children, Kate; I am glad I sent nurse to you; they are with her now, and seem quite happy; you will find her very useful." "I have found her so already, Arthur," she replied, "and Clara manages her little brother famously, so make yourself quite comfortable about the children." "Arthur is going, uncle," she said gently, for the old gentleman sat dozing in his arm-chair. "Eh? what?" he said, "Arthur going? Good-by my son; God bless you and keep you in the right path." A few more hasty farewells, and then Arthur Franklyn started at a quick pace to catch the four o'clock train to London, with the last words of his poor Fanny's father--"Keep you in the right path"--ringing in his tars. The sad and sudden death and the inquest on Mrs. Franklyn had appeared in most of the daily and weekly papers, therefore when Arthur knocked at the door of the house in which he had taken apartments, the landlady met him with a doleful face. "Oh, sir, is it true? have you lost your dear lady as we read in the papers?" "I am sorry to say it is true," he replied as he entered, "and it will make a great change in my arrangements; however, you shall not be a loser, Mrs. Mills; and now if you will bring me some tea I shall be glad of a cup to refresh myself, I can't get over such a shock all at once." "No, sir, I should think not; and indeed you're not looking at all well, and no wonder. Yes, sir," she added quickly, seeing a look of impatience pass over his face, "I'll go at once and see about your tea, it will be ready in no time." Very glad indeed was Arthur Franklyn when, the tea being removed and his landlady's restless tongue banished from the room, he could feel himself alone. He first drew the table near the window, which he closed notwithstanding the heat; then he emptied his pockets of various letters, and at length drew forth an ominous-looking document tied with red tape, which he opened and spread on the table. Yes, there the name stood, clear and distinct, in his wife's handwriting, "LOUISA ELLEN FRANKLYN. Witness--HENRY HALFORD."