this is the doubt and difficulty in which you now find me. Here I stand surrounded with these letters--look at that pile yonder--and I have not courage to decide what course to take.” “And he is too ill to consult with?” “The doctors have distinctly forbidden one syllable on any business matter.” “It's strange enough that it was a question which bore upon all this brought me up here to-night. Your father had promised me a letter to Lady Augusta at Rome, with reference to a chaplaincy I was looking for, and he told Belton to inform me that he had written the letter and sealed it, and left it on the table in the library. We found it there, as he said, only not sealed; and though that point was not important, it suggested a discussion between Julia and myself whether I had or had not the right to read it, being a letter of presentation, and regarding myself alone. We could not agree as to what ought to be done, and resolved at last to take the letter over to you, and say, If you feel at liberty to let me hear what is in this, read it for me: if you have any scruples on the score of reading, seal it, and the matter is ended at once. This is the letter.” Augustus took it, and regarded it leisurely for a moment. “I think I need have no hesitation here,” said he. “I break no seal, at least.” He withdrew the letter carefully from the envelope, and opened it. “'Dear Sedley,'” read he, and stopped. “Why, this is surely a mistake; this was not intended for Lady Augusta;” and he turned to the address, which ran, “The Lady Augusta Bramleigh, Villa Altieri, Rome.” “What can this mean?” “He has put it in a wrong envelope.” “Exactly so, and probably sealed the other, which led to his remark to Belton. I suppose it may be read now. 'Dear Sedley--Have no fears about the registry. First of all, I do not believe any exists of the date required; and secondly, there will be neither church, nor parson, nor register here in three months hence.'” Augustus stopped and looked at L'Estrange. Each face seemed the reflex of the other, and the look of puzzled horror was the same on both. “I must go on, I can't help it,” muttered Augustus, and continued: “'I have spoken to the dean, who agrees with me that Portshandon need not be retained as a parish. Something, of course, must be done for the curate here. You will probably be able to obtain one of the smaller livings for him in the Chancellor's patronage. So much for the registry difficulty, which indeed was never a difficulty at all till it occurred to your legal acuteness to make it such.'