“And now,” he said, in a mournful voice, “give me my mother's narrative.” Hartley almost started, and answered hastily, “You have the poor lady's letter, which was addressed to yourself--the narrative is addressed to me. It is my warrant for disposing of a large sum of money--it concerns the rights of third parties, and I cannot part with it.” “Surely, surely it were better to deliver it into my hands, were it but to weep over it,” answered Middlemas. “My fortune, Hartley, has been very cruel. You see that my parents purposed to have made me their undoubted heir; yet their purpose was disappointed by accident. And now my mother comes with well-intended fondness, and while she means to advance my fortune, furnishes evidence to destroy it.--Come, come, Hartley--you must be conscious that my mother wrote those details entirely for my information. I am the rightful owner, and insist on having them.” “I am sorry I must insist on refusing your demand,” answered Hartley, putting the papers in his pocket. “You ought to consider, that if this communication has destroyed the idle and groundless hopes which you have indulged in, it has, at the same time, more than trebled your capital; and that if there are some hundreds or thousands in the world richer than yourself, there are many millions not half so well provided. Set a brave spirit, then, against your fortune, and do not doubt your success in life.” His words seemed to sink into the gloomy mind of Middlemas. He stood silent for a moment, and then answered with a reluctant and insinuating voice,-- “My dear Hartley, we have long been companions--you can have neither pleasure nor interest in ruining my hopes--you may find some in forwarding them. Moncada's fortune will enable me to allow five thousand pounds to the friend who should aid me in my difficulties.” “Good morning to you, Mr. Middlemas,” said Hartley, endeavouring to withdraw. “One moment--one moment,” said Middlemas, holding his friend by the button at the same time, “I meant to say ten thousand--and--and--marry whomsoever you like--I will not be your hindrance.” “You are a villain!” said Hartley, breaking from him, “and I always thought you so.” “And you,” answered Middlemas, “are a fool, and I never thought yon better. Off he goes--Let him--the game has been played and lost--I must hedge my bets: India must be my back-play.” All was in readiness for his departure. A small vessel and a favouring gale conveyed him and several other military gentlemen to the Downs, where the Indiaman, which was to transport them from Europe, lay ready for their reception.