The commissioner, secretly cursing Alfred’s accuracy, and muttering something of the necessity for his own punctuality, was obliged to submit. He sat down--the clerk was sent for--the box was opened. The list of the papers was, as Alfred found, drawn out by Buckhurst Falconer; and the commissioner now recollected the time. “Just when poor Buckhurst,” said the father, with a sigh, “was arguing with me against going into the church--at that time. I remember, he was desperately in love with your sister Caroline.” “Why, in truth,” said Alfred, smiling, as he read over the scrawled list, “this looks a little as if it were written by a man in love--here’s another reason for our comparing the papers and the list.” “Well, well, I took it all upon trust--I am no lawyer--I never looked at them--never opened the box, and am very sorry to be obliged to do it now.” The essential care, either of papers or estate, the commissioner had evermore neglected, while he had all his life been castle-building, or pursuing some phantom of fortune at court. Whilst Alfred was comparing the papers and the list, the commissioner went on talking of the marriage of Caroline with Count Altenberg, asking when they expected them to return. It was possible that Count Altenberg might be moved to make some remonstrance in favour of Cunningham; and a word or two from him to the Duke of Greenwich would do the business. The commissioner longed to hint this to Alfred, but he was so intent upon these bundles of parchment, that till every one of them was counted, it would be in vain to make that attempt: so the commissioner impatiently stood by, while the clerk went on calling over the papers, and Alfred, in equal strains, replying. “Thank Heaven!” said he to himself, “they have got to the last bundle.” “Bundle eighteen,” cried the clerk. “Bundle eighteen,” replied Alfred. “How many numbers does it contain?” “Six,” said the clerk. “Six!--no, seven, if you please,” said Alfred. “But six in the list, sir.” “I will read them over,” said Alfred. “No. 1. Deed of assignment to Filmer Griffin, Esq. No. 2. Deed of mortgage to Margaret Simpson, widow. No. 3. Deed of lease and release. No. 4. Lease for a year--” “No. 4. no such thing--stop, sir--Deed!” Alfred gave one look at the paper, and starting up, snatched it from the hands of his clerk, with an exclamation of joy, signed the receipt for the commissioner, put it into his hands, locked the box, and sat down to write a letter, all with such rapidity that the commissioner was struck with astonishment and curiosity. Notwithstanding all his impatience to be punctual to his own engagement, he now stood fixed to the spot, and at last began with “My dear Mr. Alfred Percy, may I ask what has happened?” “My dear commissioner, I have found it--I have found it--the long-lost deed, and I am writing to my father, to tell him. Excuse me--excuse me if I am not able to explain farther at this moment.”