was waking in the small hours of the morning. Father Benwell,
wrapped comfortably in his dressing gown, was too hard at work on

his correspondence to think of his bed. With one exception, all
the letters that he had written thus far were closed, directed

and stamped for the post. The letter that he kept open he was now
engaged in reconsidering and correcting. It was addressed as

usual to the Secretary of the Order at Rome; and, when it had
undergone the final revision, it contained these lines:

My last letter informed you of Romayne's return to London and to
Miss Eyrecourt. Let me entreat our reverend brethren to preserve

perfect tranquillity of mind, in spite of this circumstance. The
owner of Vange Abbey is not married yet. If patience and

perseverance on my part win their fair reward, Miss Eyrecourt
shall never be his wife.

But let me not conceal the truth. In the uncertain future that
lies before us, I have no one to depend on but myself. Penrose is

no longer to be trusted; and the exertions of the agent to whom I
committed my inquiries are exertions that have failed.

I will dispose of the case of Penrose first.
The zeal with which this young man has undertaken the work of

conversion intrusted to him has, I regret to say, not been fired
by devotion to the interests of the Church, but by a dog-like

affection for Romayne. Without waiting for my mission" target="_blank" title="n.允许；同意；许可">permission, Penrose
has revealed himself in his true character as a priest. And, more

than this, he has not only refused to observe the proceedings of
Romayne and Miss Eyrecourt--he has deliberately closed his ears

to the confidence which Romayne wished to repose in him, on the
ground that I might have ordered him to repeat that confidence to

me.
To what use can we put this poor fellow's ungovernable sense of

honor and gratitude? Under present circumstances, he is clearly
of little use to us. I have therefore given him time to think.

That is to say, I have not opposed his leaving London, to assist
in the spiritual care of a country district. It will be a

question for the future, whether we may not turn his enthusiasm
to good account in a foreign mission. However, as it is always

possible that his influence may still be of use to us, I venture
to suggest keeping him within our reach until Romayne's

conversion has actually taken place. Don't suppose that the
present separation between them is final; I will answer for their

meeting again.
I may now proceed to the failure of my agent, and to the course

of action that I have adopted in consequence.
The investigations appear to have definitely broken down at the

seaside village of Clovelly, in the neighborhood of Mr.
Winterfield's country seat. Knowing that I could depend upon the

information which associated this gentleman with Miss Eyrecourt,
under compromising circumstances of some sort, I decided on

seeing Mr. Winterfield, and judging for myself.
The agent's report informed me that the person who had finally

baffled his inquiries was an aged Catholic priest, long resident
at Clovelly. His name is Newbliss, and he is much respected among

the Catholic gentry in that part of Devonshire. After due
consideration, I obtained a letter of introduction to my reverend

colleague, and traveled to Clovelly--telling my friends here that
I was taking a little holiday, in the interests of my health.

I found Father Newbliss a venerable and reticent son of the
Church--with one weak point, however, to work on, which was

entirely beyond the reach of the otherwise astute person charged
with my inquiries. My reverend friend is a scholar, and is

inordinately proud of his learning. I am a scholar too. In that
capacity I first found my way to his sympathies, and then gently

encouraged his pride. The result will appear in certain
discoveries, which I number as follows:

1. The events which connect Mr. Winterfield with Miss Eyrecourt
happened about two years since, and had their beginning at

Beaupark House.
2. At this period, Miss Eyrecourt and her mother were staying at

Beaupark House. The general impression in the neighborhood was
that Mr. Winterfield and Miss Eyrecourt were engaged to be

married.
3. Not long afterward, Miss Eyrecourt and her mother surprised

the neighborhood by suddenly leaving Beaupark House. Their
destination was supposed to be London.

4. Mr. Winterfield himself next left his country seat for the
Continent. His exact destination was not mentioned to any one.

The steward, soon afterward, dismissed all the servants, and the
house was left empty for more than a year.

5. At the end of that time Mr. Winterfield returned alone to
Beaupark House, and told nobody how, or where, he had passed the

long interval of his absence.
6. Mr. Winterfield remains, to the present day, an unmarried man.

Having arrived at these preliminary discoveries, it was time to
try what I could make of Mr. Winterfield next.

Among the other good things which this gentleman has inherited is
a magnificent library collected by his father. That one learned

man should take another learned man to see the books was a
perfectly natural proceeding. My introduction to the master of

the house followed my introduction to the library almost as a
matter of course.

I am about to surprise you, as I was myself surprised. In all my
long experience, Mr. Winterfield is, I think, the most

fascinating person I ever met with. Genial, unassuming manners, a
prepossessing personal appearance, a sweet temper, a quaint humor

delightfully accompanied by natural refinement--such are the
characteristic qualities of the man from whom I myself saw Miss

Eyrecourt (accidentally meeting him in public) recoil with dismay
and disgust! It is absolutely impossible to look at him, and to

believe him to be capable of a cruel or dishonorable action. I
never was so puzzled in my life.

You may be inclined to think that I am misled by a false
impression, derived from the gratifying welcome that I received

as a friend of Father Newbliss. I will not appeal to my knowledge
of human nature--I will refer to the unanswerable evidence of Mr.

Winterfield's poorer neighbors. Wherever I went, in the village
or out of it, if I mentioned his name, I produced a universal

outburst of admiration and gratitude. "There never was such a
friend to poor people, and there never can be such another to the

end of the world." Such was a fisherman's description of him; and
the one cry of all the men and women near us answered, "That's

the truth!"
And yet there is something wrong--for this plain reason, that

there is something to be concealed in the past lives of Mr.
Winterfield and Miss Eyrecourt.

Under these perplexing circumstances, what use have I made of my
opportunities? I am going to surprise you again--I have mentioned

Romayne's name to Mr. Winterfield; and I have ascertained that
they are, so far, perfect strangers to one another--and that is

all.
The little incident of mentioning Romayne arose out of my

examination of the library. I discovered certain old volumes,
which may one day be of use to him, if he continues his

contemplated work on the Origin of Religions. Hearing me express
myself to this effect, Mr. Winterfield replied with the readiest

kindness:
"I can't compare myself to my excellent father," he said; "but I

have at least inherited his respect for the writers of books. My
library is a treasure which I hold in trust for the interests of

literature. Pray say so, from me, to your friend Mr. Romayne."
And what does this amount to?-- you will ask. My reverend friend,

it offers me an opportunity, in the future, of bringing Romayne
and Winterfield together. Do you see the complications which may

ensue? If I can put no other difficulty in Miss Eyrecourt's way,
I think there is fruitful promise of a scandal of some kind