Mr. Moreland looked up when the clerk announced my name—looked up, bowed and positively rose from his seat. I took the letter from my pocket.

"I received this this morning, but, believing it to be a jest played upon me, I have not mentioned it. I have called to ask you if you know anything of it."

He took the letter from me with a strange smile.

"I wrote it myself last evening," he said, and I looked at him bewildered.

Good heaven! it was all true. To this moment I do not know how I bore the shock. I remember falling into a chair, Mr. Moreland standing over me with a glass of something in his hand, which he forced me to drink.

"Your fortune has a strange effect upon you," he said, kindly.

"I cannot believe it!" I cried, clasping his hand. "I cannot realize it! I have been working so hard—so hard for one single sovereign—and now, you say, I am rich!"

"Now, most certainly," he replied, "you are Sir Edgar Trevelyan, master of Crown Anstey and a rent roll of ten thousand a year."

I am not ashamed to confess that when I heard that I bowed my head on my hands and cried like a child.

"You have borne bad fortune better than this," said Mr. Moreland; and then I remember telling him, in incoherent words, how poor we had been and how Clare was fading away for want of the nourishment and good support I was utterly unable to find for her.

After a time I became calmer and listened while he told me of the death of the stately Sir Barnard and his eldest son. They had gone away together on a trip to Italy. Miles Trevelyan was very fond of pictures, and his father had given him permission to buy what he pleased for the great picture gallery at Crown Anstey.

They went together to Florence, where a fearful epidemic was raging. They, all unconscious of it, remained there for one night, caught it, and in two days both lay dead.

I asked how old was Miles, this eldest and favorite son. He told me twenty-seven. I asked again, had he never been married. He answered no; that, of course, if he had been married and had children, I should not be the heir to Crown Anstey.

"There was some little unpleasantness between father and son over a love affair," said Mr. 

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