“You have not heard from him since?” inquired the baronet; and as he made the inquiry he looked very grave. Markham of course concluded that some serious accident had befallen his friend, or that he was no more. With anxious eagerness, therefore, he asked, “I am afraid, Sir Andrew, by this question, that you are the bearer of some painful intelligence respecting my worthy friend.” “I certainly am, Mr. Markham; and I am sorry to say, that, judging from the letter which I received this morning from Mr. Martindale’s attorney at Brigland, I fear that the poor old gentleman is very near his end, even if he be living at all.” Markham started at the intelligence and exclaimed, “Impossible! it is scarcely a week since I saw him on his way to Trimmerstone in perfect health and spirits.” “But,” replied Sir Andrew, “he did not reach Trimmerstone: he stopped short at Brigland, where he had some matters to settle with his confidential attorney, Mr. Price; and between you and me, Mr. Markham,” continued the baronet, changing his grave and solemn for wise and mysterious looks, “I strongly suspect that that said confidential attorney will be found to have made of his confidence a great deal more than it was worth.” Markham was again astonished; for Markham was a very conscientious man, and could not readily believe many of those insinuations which are made against divers members of the legal profession. He thought that the greatest pecuniary sins that could ordinarily be laid at the door of conveyancers were a little exaggeration in the statement of their labors, and an undue estimate set upon their toils. Markham also could not help observing how readily and easily Sir Andrew Featherstone made the transition from a serious annunciation of Mr. Martindale’s illness and probable decease, to the hypothetical knavery of his confidential attorney. But why should any thing be strange to us? Simply because we do not observe, or because observing we do not remember. Markham proceeded to inquire of Sir Andrew Featherstone what steps it would be desirable to take with respect to communicating the intelligence to Signora Rivolta. “That,” exclaimed Sir Andrew, “is the difficulty. Mr. Price has requested me to make the communication; and indeed, to say the truth, I really fear that the poor old gentleman is no more. This is his letter.” Thereupon the baronet handed to Markham the attorney’s letter, which was in the usual common-place style as adopted on such occasions, and as there is nothing else common-place in these volumes, we shall not think of violating their uniformity by the insertion of this letter. When Markham had read the letter, he returned it to the baronet, saying, “Indeed, Sir Andrew, from the tenor of this letter, I am almost sure it must be as you suspect, and our worthy friend, I fear, is no more. It will be a painful task to communicate the information to his family.”