What was he to do? It was not the wealth of Arden, or even the beauty of Arden, or the rank he had held as its master, or any worldly advantage derived from it that wrung his heart to think of---- All these had their share of pain apart from the rest. The first and master pang was this, that he was suddenly shaken out of his place, out of his rank, out of that special niche in the world which he had supposed himself born to fill. He was cast adrift. Who was he? what was he? what must he do? At Arden there were quantities of things to do. He had entered upon the work with more absolute pleasure, than he had felt in the mere enjoyment of the riches and power connected with it. It was work he could do. He felt that he had penetrated its secrets, held its key in his hand; and now to discover that it was not his work at all--that it was the work of a man who would not do it, who would never think of it, never care for it. This thought overwhelmed him as he went through the wood. It came upon him suddenly, without warning, like a great thunderbolt. The work was to be transferred to a man who would not do it--whose influence would be not for good but for evil in the place. And nobody knew---- Hush, hush! oh, heavens, silence it! fresh breeze, blow it away! Nobody knew--nobody but one, who had vowed never to betray, never to say a syllable--one whose loss would be as great as his own. There was so much that could be done for Arden--the people and the place had such powers of development in them. There was land to be reclaimed, fit to grow seed and bread; there were human creatures to be helped and delivered; a thousand and a thousand things came into his mind, some great and some small--trees to be planted even--and what Arthur Arden would do would be to cut down the trees; cottages to be built--and what would he care for the poor, either physically or morally? If Arden could speak, would not it cry to heaven to be kept under the good rule of the impostor, and saved from the right heir? And then the race which had been so proud, how would it be covered with shame!--the house which had wrapped itself up in high reserve, how would its every weakness be exposed to the light! And up to this time nobody knew---- The good name of the Ardens might be preserved, and the welfare of the estate, and every end of real justice served--by what? Putting a few old papers into the fire. Clare had nearly done it last night by the flame of her candle. God bless Clare! And she, too, would have to be given up if everything else was given up--he would no longer have a sister. His name, his work, his domestic affections--everything he had in the world--all at the mercy of a lit taper or a spark of fire! If Arden was to be burnt down, for instance--such things have been--if at any time in all these years it had been burnt down, or even the wing which contained the library, or even the bureau in that room--no one would ever have known that there