into his head that the child was not his, and, in place of being pleased
with an heir, he thought himself cursed with a bastard, begotten on his
wife by no other than Captain Preston, his lady's cousin. And where did
the devil find that poison growing but in the heart of Isabel Napier,
the sister of that very Charles who is now thinking he will heir
Eastleys by pushing aside poor Henney? And then the poison, like the old
apple, was so fair and tempting; for Mr. Napier had been married ten
years, and enjoyed the love that is so bonnie a 'little while when it is
new,' and yet had no children, till this one came so exactly nine months
after the captain's visit to Scotland, that Satan had little more to do
than hold up the temptation. You see, sir, how things come round; but
still, according to the old fashion, after a long, weary, dreary turn.
Mrs. Napier died next day after the birth; Mr. Napier lived a miserable
man; Henney was brought up in poverty, and sometimes distress, but now I
hope she has come to her kingdom."

Here Mrs. Hislop stopped; and as there could be no better winding-up of
a romance than by bringing her heroine to her kingdom at last, she felt
so well pleased with her conclusion, that she could afford to wait
longer for her expected applause than the fair story-tellers in the
_brigata_ under Queen Pampinea; and it was as well that she was thus
fortified, for the writer, in place of declaring his satisfaction, with
her proofs, seemed, as he lay back in his chair in a deep reverie, to be
occupied once more in hunting for flaws. At length, raising himself on
his chair, and fixing his eyes upon her with that look of scepticism
which a writer assumes when he addresses a would-be new client who wants
to push out an old one with a better right--

"Mrs. Hislop," said he, "if it had not been that I have always taken you
for an honest woman, I would say that you are art and part in