“He spoke of his client as a very extraordinary person, and of her accomplishments, and readiness, and beauty. Altogether, he does not seem to know what to make of her.” “And what did he say about Jack?—You need have no reserve with me, Anna; I am his sister.” “I know that very well, dear Sarah—but Jack’s name was not mentioned, I believe—certainly not at the particular time, and in the conversation to which I now refer.” “But at some _other_ time, my dear, and in some _other_ conversation.” “He did once say something about your brother’s being very attentive to the interests of the person he calls his Duke’s county client—nothing more, I do assure you. It is the duty of young lawyers to be very attentive to the interests of their clients, I should think.” “Assuredly—and that most especially when the client is a young lady with a pocket full of money. But Jack is above want, and can afford to act right at all times and on all occasions. I wish he had never seen this strange creature.” Anna Updyke sat silent for some little time, playing with the hem of her pocket-handkerchief. Then she said timidly, speaking as if she wished an answer, even while she dreaded it— “Does not Marie Moulin know something about her?” “A great deal, if she would only tell it. But Marie, too, has gone over to the enemy, since she has seen this siren. Not a word can I get out of her, though I have written three letters, beyond the fact that she knows _Mademoiselle_, and that she cannot believe her guilty.” “The last, surely, is very important. If really innocent, how hard has been the treatment she has received! It is not surprising that your brother feels so deep an interest in her. He is very warm-hearted and generous, Sarah; and it is just like him to devote his time and talents to the service of the oppressed.” It was Sarah’s turn to be silent and thoughtful. She made no answer, for she well understood that an impulse very different from that mentioned by her friend was, just then, influencing her brother’s conduct. We have related this conversation as the briefest mode of making the reader acquainted with the true state of things in and about the neat dwelling of Mrs. Updyke in Eighth-street. Much, however, remains to be told; as the morning of the very day which succeeded that on which the foregoing dialogue was held, was the one named for the wedding of the mistress of the house. At the very early hour of six, the party met at the church door, one of the most gothic structures in the new quarter of the town; and five minutes sufficed to make the two one. Anna sobbed as she saw her mother passing away from her, as it then appeared to her; and the bride herself was a little overcome. As for McBrain, as his friend Dunscomb expressed it, in a description given to a brother bachelor, who met him at dinner—