reference, and that Mrs. Fortress's "Madam!" sounded like a threat? If it were or were not so, my mother quickly recovered herself.

"It is good to know that your father did not suffer," she said.

"Death is not a pleasant subject to talk about," observed Mrs. Fortress.

"What has passed between my mother and myself is quite natural," I retorted; it appeared to me that her remark was unnecessary.

"I beg your pardon," she said, but although her words conveyed an apology, her voice did not.

Shortly afterwards my mother pleaded that she was tired, and I left the room.

Upon the news of my father's death becoming known I had two visitors, the doctor who attended on my mother, and a lawyer. I may mention here that these were the only persons who, with myself, followed my father to the grave. The doctor's visit was one of condolence, and he indulged in the usual platitudes which, but for the occasion, I should not have listened to with patience. He bade me good day with a sigh, and called into his face an expression of dolour which I knew was assumed for my benefit.

The lawyer's visit was upon business. He came to acquaint me with the particulars of my father's Will.

"I have the rough draft in my office," he said; "the Will itself we shall doubtless find among your father's private papers. It was his habit, when he intended to be absent from home for any length of time, to leave the key of his safe in my keeping, I have brought it with me."

We went together to my father's special room, the room in which he wrote and transacted his private business, and which was always kept locked. No person, unbidden, was allowed to enter it but himself. Although I had now been living at Rosemullion for many years I had been but once in this apartment, and then I took no particular notice of it. The key of the room had been found in his portmanteau, which he had taken with him to Wales, and had been delivered up to me with his other effects.

It was plainly furnished. There were two chairs, a couch, and a writing-table--nothing more; not a picture, not an ornament, not a single evidence of luxury. The walls were hung with old tapestry on which battle scenes were worked.

"Rosemullion is not a modern building," said the lawyer, "but perhaps you are already familiar with its history, 

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