Coralie was so much amazed, that it would have been difficult for her to decide, at the moment, whether he could do anything for her or not. But the entrance of Mr. Youle and Bergan relieved her from the necessity of answering, and gave her opportunity to compare the brothers at her leisure. Unquestionably, they were singularly alike, in personal appearance, manner, and somewhat, even, in mind. Only, when seen together, Bergan was found to be so much older and graver of aspect--far more than was justified by his two years of seniority--that she wondered how she could ever have mistaken one for the other. And, certainly, there was a rare charm about Bergan's gravity, a singular fascination in looking into his deep, thoughtful, all-observant eyes, and conjecturing what disappointment or sorrow lay darkly underneath. Still, Hubert's buoyancy and animation were wonderfully taking, too, in their way; and her youthfulness sprang involuntarily forward to meet his. On the whole, she was glad to know that Mr. Arling had a brother every way so worthy of him. Before she left, the brothers received and accepted an invitation from Mr. Youle to dine with him. But for Hubert's sake, Bergan would gladly have declined it. Having once introduced his brother into pleasant society, however, he could leave him to make his own way in it,--as he was fully qualified to do. When the door closed on the father and daughter, Hubert looked at his brother, and smiled meaningly. "Why did you not tell me?" he asked. "What should I tell?" rejoined Bergan, composedly. "That your future was likely to atone so prettily and pleasantly for your past." Bergan looked grave. "Not another word of that, Hubert, if you please. The past is not atoned for, in that sense; in another, I hope it may be. Miss Coralie is, to me, simply my kind old partner's very admirable and estimable daughter." Hubert looked half incredulously into his eyes, but there was no resisting the strong confirmation of their quiet, steady, answering gaze. "But, Bergan, you are a goose!" he broke out. "At your service," was the reply, with a bow of mock courtesy. "Pshaw! Then, if I go and trade on your capital, you will never call me to account?" "Never." Hubert held out his hand; Bergan gave it a firm, strong clasp. There was not another word; they understood each other. In the midst of the desultory chat that followed, there came a knock at the door; and in answer to Bergan's prompt "Come in," his former client, Unwick, entered. "My brother," explained Bergan, as the new comer looked a little hesitatingly at Hubert. "Would you like to see me alone?" "As you please," replied Unwick. "It is your business rather than mine that brings me here; if anything so vague and indefinite can be called business." "Then, proceed. I have no secrets from my brother. Will you take a chair?" Unwick sat down, and cleared his throat.