“At length chance favored me and gave the information I desired. A neighbor of mine went off on a business trip and was in Washington City last week, and met there a friend of yours—a Mr. Walling, of New York. By the merest accident your name came up—neither of the gentlemen knowing of how much importance it was to me—and Fairfax heard that you were in New York City, and, in fact, much about you which it is not necessary to repeat here, but all of which he told me. Therefore, I write you this letter. “And now, since you are not bound down to your Mississippi plantation, and since you are my sole heir, and I am old and feeble, and cannot last long, I ask you to be a good boy, and a dutiful nephew, and to come and bring your wife and live with me on the farm. “I have not suffered, as so many have, by the war. It did not sweep over my land, but gave it a rather wide berth. “My negroes have remained with me at fair wages, but whether they do fair work is something else. “I have an overseer to look after the negroes, but, my boy, I require some one to look after the overseer. Will you come? “As breaking up and traveling is always expensive, and as I do not know your financial condition, I inclose a check for five hundred dollars, merely as an advance to my heir. Give my love to your wife. Let me hear from you as soon as possible, and believe me, my dear Cleve, now and ever, your affectionate grand-uncle, “JOHN CLEVE.” “Thank God!” fervently ejaculated Stuart. “But where is the check?” curiously inquired Palma. Stuart opened the leaves of the letter again, then his face fell and he murmured: “My uncle must have forgotten to put it in!” “No,” said Palma, “here it is!” And she picked it up from the carpet, to which it had slipped. “Thank God!” said Stuart again. “Why, I am glad, very glad, that you have heard from your uncle. But you, Cleve! I have never in all my life seen you so strongly moved. What is it all about?” exclaimed Palma, amazed at his extreme agitation. “My darling, when this providential letter came we were on the brink of ruin!” he answered, telling her the truth at last. “‘Ruin!’ You! Cleve Stuart!” “Yes, my beloved.” “But your vast wealth?” “A fond imagination of yours.” “And your rich Mississippi plantation?” “A blasted wilderness.” “Oh, Cleve! Cleve! How have we lived?” “By the gradual disposal of all my useless effects.” “Oh, Cleve! Cleve!” “The last dime was spent on Saturday, dear, and this morning I looked for nothing else but a distrain for rent and ejection from these premises.” “And you never told me! You never told me!” “Why should I have distressed you, dear one?”