“You are extremely eloquent this morning, Jane,” said the Baronet, with a caustic sneer—for even his pet sister was subject to his fits of spleen; “but you are quite out, I fear, in your ideas respecting Mabel Arden. I will read you my solicitor’s letter, which I received yesterday evening;” and, putting his hand into his pocket-book, he pulled out a letter, which he read aloud:— “MY DEAR SIR, “I have just received a communication from Mr. Stanmore, solicitor, —— Square, that surprises me. He states that it is his intention to assert the claims of Miss Mabel Arden to the name of Etherton, and to the portion, with interest, that she became entitled to on the death of Sir Granby Etherton. This is serious, for I find, on looking over your lamented father’s papers, and reading some deeds and documents, that when your father succeeded to the title and estates, a sum of twenty thousand pounds ought to have been put aside at once as the future fortune of any daughters living at the time of his succession. “I always understood that your father’s elder brother died unmarried; consequently this twenty thousand pounds became a settlement to be divided between your sisters, each receiving a portion, with interest according to age, out of the estates. But now it appears, from Mr. Stamnore’s letter, that the late Mr. Granby Arden was married, and left two children, a son and daughter. The son it is supposed”—(“He marks the word ‘supposed,’” said Sir Howard, bitterly, looking up at his attentive sister)—“the son, it is supposed, perished at Lyons during the sacking of that city, but the daughter lives, and he declares Miss Mabel Arden to be that daughter. Now, if he can substantiate this to be the case, it will cost the Etherton estates a sum, with principal and simple interest, of nearly thirty-two thousand pounds. Pray let me see you as soon as possible, that I may know how to proceed and act. “Yours faithfully, “C. D. THORPE.” “Dear me, I am astonished!” said Miss Jane, as her brother folded the letter, with a very gloomy brow. “What do you intend doing? Do you really believe this girl to be the daughter of our Uncle Arden?” “I do,” returned the Baronet, sharply; “but I cannot see how she or any one else can prove her right and title to the name of Arden. Sir Oscar de Bracy, the late Governor of ——, in India, has left her ten thousand pounds, perfectly satisfied that she was his niece. Curse that meddling coxswain’s son, or protegé, which you please, that now claims the title and property of the Governor of ——; but,” added the baronet, exultingly, “he’s a prisoner in France, or at the bottom of the ocean perhaps, for nothing certain is known of him. He it was that saved this girl’s life; at all events, he brought her and the casket out of Toulon; whereas, if he had not interfered, she would very likely have perished with her mother, who called herself the Duchess of Coulancourt.”