‘In the workhouse of this town,’ was the sullen reply. ‘You have the story there.’ He pointed impatiently to the papers as he spoke.

‘I must have it here, too,’ said Mr. Brownlow, looking round upon the listeners.

‘Listen then! You!’ returned Monks. ‘His father being taken ill at Rome, was joined by his wife, my mother, from whom he had been long separated, who went from Paris and took me with her — to look after his property, for what I know, for she had no great affection for him, nor he for her. He knew nothing of us, for his senses were gone, and he slumbered on till next day, when he died. Among the papers in his desk, were two, dated on the night his illness first came on, directed to yourself’; he addressed himself to Mr. Brownlow;