to forsake him all at once. This is what was written, in uneven lines, under the torn envelope, which had driven Clare desperate, and made her brother stupid, in his inability to understand-- “_I will take him from you, bring him up as my son, and make him my heir--as you say, for my own ends._” Edgar was stupefied. He sat and looked at it blankly over and over. Son!--heir! What was the meaning of the words? He did not for the moment ask any more. “What does the fool mean? What does the fool mean?” he said, over and over. It did not move him to open the cover to inquire further. He only sat stupid, and looked at it. How long he might have continued to do so it is impossible to tell; but all at once, in the quiet house, there was a sound of something falling, and this roused him. What could it be? Could it be Clare who had fallen? Could it---- He roused himself up, and went to the door and listened. He had wasted an hour or more in one way or other before he even looked at his packet, and now the house was at rest, and everything still. Had Clare known the moment at which he read those words--had she fainted in sympathy? His mind had grown altogether so confused that he could not make it out. He stood watching at the door for some minutes, and then, hearing nothing further, shut it carefully, and went back and sat down again. The candles were clear enough; the writing, though difficult, was distinct. “I will take him from you, bring him up as my son, make him my heir.” “Perhaps there is something more about it inside,” Edgar said to himself, with a faint smile. He spoke aloud, with a sense that he was speaking to somebody, and then started at the sound of his own voice, feeling as if some one else had spoken. And then he laughed. It made a diabolical sound in the silence. Was it he that laughed, or some devil?--there must be devils about--and what a fool he must be to be so easily startled; what a fool--what a fool!