“The Castelcicalans absolutely worship him,” said Mr. Hatfield; “and they look upon him as in every way fitted to succeed the Grand Duke Alberto, whenever death shall snatch away that great and enlightened sovereign from the throne.” “It was in the Castelcicalan capital that poor Jacob Smith breathed his last--was it not?” enquired the physician. “Yes--in the suburbs of Montoni,” answered Mr. Hatfield. “As you are well aware, the poor youth never recovered the shock which he sustained on learning that he owed his being to that dreadful man--Benjamin Bones; and the horrible way in which that remorseless wretch died, augmented the weight of the fearful blow caused by that discovery. Jacob scarcely ever rallied--scarcely ever held up his head afterwards: the only gleam of happiness which he knew was afforded by the good tidings that we received relative to the Bunces--and even that was insufficient to sustain his drooping spirit. He languished away--for six years he pined in sorrow, accessible to no consolation that travelling, change of scenery, or our attentions could impart. It was several years before the Great Revolution, which, conducted by Richard Markham, gave freedom to Castelcicala and raised up that hero to a princely rank,--it was some years before this glorious era, that Jacob Smith--for he always retained that name--breathed his last. We buried him in a picturesque cemetery on the banks of the river Ferretti; and a cross--according to the custom of that Catholic country--was placed to mark his last home.” “Poor fellow!” exclaimed the doctor. “He was always sickly--and the discovery of his hideous parentage was too much for so weak a constitution. And now let us turn to another subject:--have you received the letters which you expected concerning the various individuals----” “I know to whom you allude,” interrupted Mr. Hatfield; “and I have now before me,” he added, glancing at several letters, “the correspondence relating to those persons. Timothy Splint still remains the occupant of a fine farm in the backwoods of the United States; and the last nineteen years of his existence have proved the sincere penitence which he feels for the crimes of his earlier days. He possesses a competency--if not positive wealth. By his marriage with the daughter of a neighbouring settler, he has a numerous family; and he brings up his children in the ways of morality and virtue. Indeed, I am well aware _that he has lived to bless the period when he went through the ordeal of the subterranean dungeon_.” “You prophesied that he would!” exclaimed Sir John Lascelles. “Yes--those were the very words which you used when speaking of him to me nineteen years ago. I recollect them perfectly;--for age has not impaired my memory, thank heaven!”