“If I only live to be old enough,” thought Ned; “often and often those words sound ominously; but if I am spared I’ll find it out before I am twenty-one years old. I am man enough now for anything; and if any wretch still lives who has acted the traitor towards my father, let him tremble. “There has always been bad blood between the Redgills and my father’s family, eh! so the old knight says; then my name is not—it cannot be Warbeck!” Wildfire Ned was almost driven mad at the thought of this grand family secret. “Why do they conceal my real name? Who knows, I might be the son of some lord!” With these thoughts ringing in his head Ned Warbeck directed his footsteps to the town house of the old knight, which was situated in Mayfair. The servants rejoiced at his return, but Ned was moody. Sir Richard was out, but where he had gone to no one could tell. He heard the news about his brother Charley, and of Redgill’s villany, and he swore like a true tar thereat. He paced the library up and down, and cast his eyes first to one old dusty book-shelf and then to another, but he did not care to remain in the place; it was so cold and comfortless. “I always thought that this old library was haunted,” thought Ned, “and I never liked it.” He was about to leave when his foot struck against something in the floor. To his amazement one of the boards of the flooring sprung up. He had trod upon a secret spring! To his still greater astonishment he discovered a small old oak chest. It was bound with clasps and bolts of brass. It had six padlocks on it. “This is some hidden treasure,” thought Ned. He pulled out the small chest, and, after locking himself in, began to prize open the chest. With much perseverance and labour he succeeded at last in breaking it open. It contained nothing but a packet of musty, dusty papers. “What can this mean?” thought Ned. He eagerly seized the bundle, and on the outside read, “Family papers; not to be opened until the death of Sir Richard Warbeck. They then belong to the heirs of the celebrated Sir Edward Lancaster, who was banished from the kingdom by Cromwell. The enclosed is a short sketch of his rise and fall in the state, and of the origin of the Skeleton Band; how, and when, and where it was formed. Some of the names mentioned are not the right ones. The key to the proper names can be found elsewhere on the death of Sir Richard Warbeck.” “Strange!” thought Ned; “why, what mystery is here? Some grand family secret. It may be useful for Charley and myself to know this. “Sir Edward Lancaster,” sighed Ned; “I have heard of him. But surely that is not my name? I wonder if any mystery hung over my father’s early career, like my own?” In great mental excitement he locked and barred the old library doors, tore open the packet, and read, with a trembling hand,— A STATE SECRET. THE KING’S BASTARD.