Supposing it were taken as an income at five
per cent? Ha! one could grasp that, at all
events. It would produce about two hundred
and thirty-eight thousand pounds a year. Two
hundred and thirty-eight thousand a year! A
splendid revenue, truly; yet less than the income
enjoyed by many an English nobleman; and not
one penny more than might be very easily and
pleasantly spent by even a poor devil of an
attorney like himself!

It might have been his own, that princely
heritage—nay, would have been, but for the
accursed accident of birth! It might have been
his; and now to whom would it fall? To a
stranger—an alien—probably to an uncultivated
boor, ignorant of the very language of his
forefathers! Oh, the bitter injustice of it! Had
not he at least as fair a right to this wealth?
Did not he stand in precisely the same degree of
relationship to the giver of it? By what law of
natural justice was the descendant of the eldest
son to revel in superfluity, while he, the descendant
of the youngest, stood on the brink of
ruin? Had it even been left for division between
the survivors, both might have been rich; but
now——

He rose, pale and agitated, and paced restlessly
about the room.

But now, was it not evident that this heir was
his born foe and despoiler, and had he not the
right to hate him? Was not the hand of the
desperate man against all men, even from the
very beginning? but was it not first raised against
those who had wronged him the deepest?
William Trefalden was a desperate man. Had
he not appropriated that twenty-five thousand
pounds paid over to him by Lord Castletowers
two years ago for the liquidation of the mortgage,
and did not ruin and discovery stare him in
the face? Having hazarded name and safety on
one terrible die known only to himself, should he
now hesitate to declare war upon his enemy, who
was the possessor of millions?

He smiled a strange smile of power and
defiance, and ran his finger along the black lines on
the map. From Dover to Calais—from Calais,
by train, to Basle—Basle to Zurich—Zurich to
Chur. At Chur the railways terminate. It
could not be far beyond Chur where these
emigrant Trefaldens dwelt. It would take him
three days to get there, perhaps three and a
half—perhaps four. He would start to-morrow.

His decision once taken, William Trefalden
became in a moment cool and methodical as ever.
All trace of excitement vanished from his face,
as a breath clears from the surface of a mirror.
He thrust the Bradshaw in his pocket, scribbled
a hasty note to his head clerk, carefully burned
the cyphered blotting-paper in the flame of the
lamp, and watched it expire among the dead
ashes in the fireplace; locked his desk; tried the
fastenings of the safe; glanced at the clock, and
prepared to be gone.

"A quarter to seven already!" exclaimed he,
as he unlocked the door. " I shall be late tonight!"

He had spoken aloud, believing himself alone,
but stopped at the sight of Mr. Keckwitch, busily
writing.

"You here, Keckwitch!" he said, frowning.
"I told you you might go."

"You did, sir," replied the scribe, placidly;
"but there was Heywood and Bennett's deed of
partnership to be drawn up, so I would not take
advantage of your kindness."

Trefalden bit his lip.

"I had just written a line to you," he said,
"to let you know that I am going out of
town for a fortnight. Forward all letters marked
private."

"Where to, sir?"

"You will find the address here."

And Mr. Trefalden tossed the note down
upon the clerk's desk, and turned towards the
door.

"Glad you're going to allow yourself a little
pleasure for once, sir," observed Mr. Keckwitch,
without the faintest gleam of surprise or curiosity
on his impassive countenance. " Begging pardon
for the liberty."

His employer hesitated for an instant before
replying.

"Thank you," he said, "but pleasure is not
my object. I go to visit a relation whom I have
neglected too long. Good night."

With this he passed from the room, and went
slowly down the stairs. In the passage he paused
to listen; and when in the street, stepped out
into the middle of the thoroughfare to look up
at the windows.

"Strange!" muttered he; " but I never
suspected that fellow so strongly as I do
tonight!"

He then glanced right and left, buttoned his
coat across his chest, for the March wind blew
keenly, and walked briskly up the lane, in the
direction of Holborn. As he neared the top of
the street, close to its junction with the great
thoroughfare, a thought struck him, and he flung
himself back, by a rapid movement, into the
recess of an old-fashioned doorway. There was
no lamp within several yards. The doorway was
dark and deep as a sentry-box. There, with
eager ear and bated breath, he waited.

Presently, apart from the deep hum of traffic
close by, he heard a footstep coming up—a
footstep so light and swift that at first he thought
he must be mistaken. Then his practised ear
detected a labouring wheeze in the breath of the
runner.

"The scoundrel!" ejaculated he, poised his
right arm, set his teeth, and stood ready for a
spring.

The signals of distress grew more distinct—
the step slackened, ceased—drew near again—
and Mr. Abel Keckwitch, panting and bewildered,
made his appearance just opposite the doorway,
evidently baffled by the disappearance of its
occupant.