“What a solemn and mysterious communication,” said Lady Waterham, laughing, as she handed a letter across the breakfast table to her husband.

“Pooh! my dear, it is some Irish beggar; you had better not see him,” said his lordship as he rose from the table.

“O scarcely it would be too impertinent.”

The letter ran as follows:

“The Rev. Cooper Gore Smith presents his compliments to Lady Waterham, and trusts that she will find it convenient to receive him on Tuesday morning at about eleven o’clock, when he hopes to have the honour of waiting on her ladyship.

“The Rev. Cooper Gore Smith’s reasons for troubling Lady Waterham can scarcely be explained in a letter. Suffice it that the affair on which he is engaged is of considerable importance to those chiefly concerned, and may even prove not to be without interest for her ladyship.

“Railway Hotel, Leeds,
“Sep, 187.”

This the worthy man flattered himself was in his best style. He was considerably puffed up by the importance of his mission, and, although he had the wisdom to keep them secret, his aspirations were nearly as far-reaching as those of Jim himself. To have been the friend and patron of two long-lost scions of nobility was an idea too romantic and agreeable not to be dwelt on, even though he reminded himself again and again that it had probably no foundation. It was, therefore, with no little self-importance that the note was penned, and in a similar frame of mind he started for Burnham Park next morning.

Lady Waterham was sitting in the morning-room with her two daughters when the clergyman was announced.

Lady Eleanor and Lady Constance More were like each other, being both agreeable-looking, simple, and yet elegant. They seemed about the same age, and were certainly past their first youth; still they looked bright and cheerful, and evidently troubled themselves but little about the advancing years. Lady Waterham was somewhat frigid in her manner, and as she slightly rose and pointed Mr. Smith to a chair, he became conscious that he had forgotten the exact words in which he had intended to commence the conversation. This led to a slight pause, but having plenty to say, he soon found a way to begin.

I have ventured to call on your ladyship about two young persons in whom I am deeply interested, and into whose parentage I am making inquiries. The story is a romantic one, and will take some little time to relate ” He was brought to a sudden pause by the cold, inquiring look of Lady Waterham.

“But I ought to tell your ladyship how I come to call on you.”

“Thank you, sir,” said her ladyship, drily she was beginning to suspect that her husband had been right.

“Well, the fact is,” continued Mr. Smith, “the only clue to identity which we have is this watch, which it appears was purchased by you some twenty-three years ago at Mr. Turnwell’s in Leeds.”

Her ladyship was not like her daughters, and scarcely quite relished being reminded of what happened twenty-three years ago. She took the watch coldly, and, after looking at it a moment, said

“Really, sir, I think there must be some mistake. I remember nothing about this watch. I am sure it was never mine, nor have any of us lost a watch. I am sorry you should have had so much trouble.”

“Excuse me, your ladyship, but it seems almost certain that the watch was bought on your account. I have seen the entry in Messrs. Turnwell’s books, from which this is a copy.”

“This is very strange,” said Lady Waterham, as she read the memorandum. “L7 10s. it cost, I see.”

“When was it, mamma?” asked Lady Eleanor, looking up for the first time.

“The 18th of April, 185.”

“O mamma, I know! It must be the watch we gave to dear Elsie before she was married. You remember the marriage was in May, and that was the year I am sure. I was just fourteen.”

“Fourteen and twenty-three are thirty-seven,” said the Rev. Cooper Smith to himself, as he looked at the still fresh and eager face.

“Poor dear Elsie! what has become of her? Do you know her, sir?” she continued, turning to the clergyman.

“The girl on whose behalf I am inquiring is called Elsie, and it seems probable she was your friend’s daughter.”

“I must tell you, sir, who our Elsie was,” said her ladyship, who had caught and did not like the word “friend.” “She had been my maid; but we found her so conscientious, nice-mannered, and well-informed, that she almost occupied the position of nursery governess to the younger children. We were all very much attached to her, and when she married we gave her a watch, which Lady Eleanor supposes must be the same as this. The marriage was not a happy one, and we opposed it as long as we could. After some time she went to India, and thence I think to China, with her husband. For many years we have heard nothing of her, though I think we fancied we saw his name among those lost in a terrible shipwreck some years ago. It was a sad story altogether. Poor Elsie! Do you remember how anxious we used to be about her, girls?”

“It was only the other day I was thinking of her, and wondering what had become of the little baby. You know I was its god-mother, and she was called after me.”

“Yes, indeed, I had forgotten,” said Lady Waterham; “but perhaps, sir, you would kindly tell us what you know about our former protegee.”

Mr. Smith told the sad tale with which our readers are acquainted as briefly as he could. At the end there was a pause, and then her ladyship said

“Poor foolish girl! She would not take my advice, and I foresaw that her end would not be happy.”

“Our poor dear Elsie!” said Lady Constance, her eyes overflowing. “It was a sad day for her when she first saw that horrid man Damer; her head was quite turned afterwards.”

“At all events my baby godchild is living, and a credit to me apparently,” said Lady Eleanor.

“And the boy?” said the clergyman.

There was a pause. The Ladies Constance and Eleanor looked at each other, and then at their mother.

“I have not mentioned the boy,” said her ladyship; “but that is the most painful part of the subject. He is not Elsie’s brother at all; and what is worse, it was never exactly known who he was. About four months after the marriage a poor woman came to the village. She said her name was Damer, and inquired for Elsie’s husband. He was very much put out by her appearance, but at once took a lodging for her, where the poor thing had a baby, and died immediately after. Damer said the woman was his only sister, and accordingly that he must take the child. At the time Elsie seemed to have no doubts, but every one else talked about it. Some said the woman was his wife, and others you can imagine what they said. Shortly after that they left the neighbourhood, and we never saw Elsie again. Her husband, I must tell you, was a mechanical engineer, and considered an excellent workman. He got a capital appointment in India after he left Leeds, and Elsie wrote to tell us she was going with him. It was then I so strongly urged her to stay at home with the children; but she would not be guided, and merely wrote to say she had placed them with some people in the north of Ireland, where, I think, she came from herself.”

“I fancy,” said Lady Eleanor, “I have some of her letters still. You remember, mamma, they were imprisoned in China, with a number of other English people, for ever so long. It was after they were released that we had the last letter (which I am sure I kept), saying that she was coming home. We did not know at the time whether she meant alone or not; and then when we saw Edgar Damer’s name among the people lost in that vessel I forget its name we concluded that she must have gone on before.”

Thus piecing together the broken memories of the past, the morning went by. The Rev. Cooper Smith stayed to luncheon, and in the course of conversation various confirmatory incidents came out. The miniature in the locket was at once recognised, and it appeared that the locket itself had been the special gift of little Lady Eleanor. A more careful comparison of dates proved quite satisfactory, showing, among other things, that the body had been found at Tor Bay just four months after the date of the letter which Lady Eleanor had succeeded in finding, and in which Elsie said she was to start in a few days, and would be nearly four months on the voyage. “My first visit will be to the glens, and then I shall try to go over and see you. I have so much to tell, and to ask your kind advice about. I am unhappy and anxious, and feel somehow as if I would never see either my child or you, though I am writing about it. It is so long since we have heard of anybody, we seem to have been dead, as it were.”

Having returned to his hotel, the clergyman made some brief notes of the story that had thus providentially been brought to light. He did not know whether to feel pleasure or disappointment. He was glad to have the mystery cleared up; glad, too, to find that Elsie had had so sweet a mother, and was likely to have such kind and liberal friends. Yet he could not but feel sorry for the collapse that was awaiting Jim’s castle in the air. It would be a bitter trial for him, and he knew not how Jim would bear it. Mr. Smith was somewhat puzzled, moreover, what to do himself. He had promised to write to the expectant Jim; but now he could not bring himself to do so. His own holiday would not expire for a fortnight, and he was naturally reluctant to return home sooner than was necessary. While debating what was best to be done, a telegram was put into his hand. It was from the irrepressible and anxious Jim. “Please telegraph results obtained immediately. Reply paid for.” “The fool!” muttered Mr. Smith; and, yielding to a sudden irritation, he filled up the reply for which the boy was waiting:

“All clear enough, but quite unsatisfactory as far as you are concerned.”

It was a cruel blow, and no sooner was it dealt than he was sorry for it. He resolved to write to the poor lad, and, finding an invitation to dine at Burnham Park, which had first to be accepted, he sat down, well pleased with himself and all the world. The letter to Jim was kindly. The whole truth was not told, but it was announced that Jim and Elsie were no connections of the Waterham family. All else was reserved for verbal explanation.

The dinner at Burnham was pleasant enough. The earl was affable, and after dinner had several reminiscences of that clever dog Damer to tell, which did not raise his character in the clergymans estimation. When about to leave, Lady Eleanor handed him a note for Elsie, adding

“I do wish so she would come over and see us! Of course I should gladly pay all her expenses.”

The Rev. Cooper Smith left Leeds next morning quite satisfied with himself, and, having written a long letter to Hendrick, giving a general idea of his discoveries, he went on his tour with a light heart.