Partly from reasons that have been suggested, but chiefly from William Henry’s remonstrance upon his patron’s account—who he felt confident would lay an embargo upon all future treasure troves, if he should find the report of what had happened to interfere with his own ease and privacy—Mr. Samuel Erin took little pains to circulate the news of his son’s second discovery; but nevertheless it oozed out, and in spite of himself William Henry found himself to be in some respects a public character. Whoever called to see the manuscripts inquired also if the young gentleman was at home, to receive from his own lips the oft-told tale of their discovery. This was exceedingly irksome to him; he would much rather have been reading and talking to his fair cousin, and let his father have all the glory of exhibition and explanation to himself. But Maggie never grudged him to these inquirers; she was pleased to find he was so much sought after, and took a greater pride in it than even her uncle. William Henry went to New Inn, as usual, but it was well understood that the time he spent there was of little consequence, as compared with his visits to the Temple. Mr. Erin ever thirsted for new discoveries, not only on their own account, but because, as he justly observed, the greater the bulk of them, the more probable would their genuineness appear to those inclined to question it. The antiquary demands not only treasure but credit, and though Mr. Erin himself entertained no doubts, he would rather that other people had none; just as the gentleman who kept the thousand-pound note framed and glazed upon his mantelpiece, not content with knowing it was from the Bank of England, resented the imputation from his friends of its having been issued from the Bank of Elegance. Moreover, Mr. Erin was secretly troubled at the continued absence of Frank Dennis. He could, as we have seen, on occasion, and even when there was no occasion, give him the rough side of his tongue, but in his heart he greatly respected him. The old man, thanks to himself, or rather to his temper, had few friends; the bond that united him to those he possessed was itself a source of rivalry and disagreement. But Dennis’s father and himself had been as brothers, and after the former died, Mr. Erin had allowed the young man some familiarity, to which certainly none of his years had been admitted before or since. He professed just now to be absent on business, but business had never detained him from Norfolk Street so long before. Mr. Erin reproached himself with having driven him away by his harsh behaviour, and even went so far as to confess as much to his niece. ‘Of course it annoyed me, wench, to see Frank so obstinate in his incredulity, for that he was incredulous about that note of hand I am certain.’ ‘I can only say that he never breathed a word of doubt to me, uncle.’