“Shall I read all the possible and impossible chances of pushing my fortune in the Army or Navy, Mamma?” said Helen, archly, “for I see that his Lordship is most profuse in offers for my advancement,--nay, if I have a clerical vocation, here is a living actually waiting my acceptance.” “Let us rather look for something that may explain the riddle, my dear,” said Lady Eleanor, taking the letter in her own hand, while she lightly skimmed over the last page. “No, I can find no clew to it here--Stay, what have we in this corner?--'Politically speaking, there is no news here; indeed, in that respect, _your_ side of the Channel engrosses all the interest; the great question of the “Union” still occupies all attention. Virtually, _we_ know the ministry have the majority, but there will be still a very respectable fight, to amuse the world withal. How does the Knight vote? With us, I hope and trust, for although I may tell you, in confidence, the result is certain, his support would be very grateful to the Government, and, while he himself can afford to smile at ministerial flatteries, Lionel is a young fellow whom rapid promotion would well become, and who would speedily distinguish himself, if the occasion were favorable. At all events, let the Knight not vote _against_ the minister; this would be a crime never to be forgiven, and personally offensive to his Royal Highness; and I trust Darcy is too good a sportsman to prefer riding the last horse, even should he not wish to mount the winner.'” Here the letter concluded, amid protestations of regard most affectionately worded, and warm wishes for a renewal of intimacy, only to cease with life. Across this was written, with a different ink, and in a hurried hand: “I have this moment seen Mr. Pitt; the Knight's vote is very important. He may make any terms he pleases,--Pitt spoke of a peerage; but I suppose that would not be thought advisable. Let me hear _your_ opinion. Lionel has been gazetted to a company this morning, _en attendant_ better.” Lady Eleanor, who had read these last lines to herself, here laid down the letter without speaking, while the slight flush of her cheek and the increased brilliancy of her eyes showed that her feelings were deeply and powerfully excited. “Well, Mamma, have you found the solution to this mystery?” said Helen, as she gazed with affectionate solicitude on her mother's features. “How unchangeable a thing is nature!” muttered Lady Eleanor, unconsciously, aloud; “that boy was a crafty tuft-hunter at Eton.” “Of whom are you speaking, Mamma?” “Lord Netherby, my dear, who would seem to have cultivated his natural gift with great success; but,” added she, after a pause, and in a voice scarcely above a whisper, “I am scarcely as easy a dupe now as when he persuaded me to take ash-berries in exchange for cherries. Let us hear what Lionel says.”