entreat you to tell me--I promise to take whatever you may be disposed to
communicate, in the same good part it is intended."

"Well, then, I believe you are right; but, first, let me ask you, how do
you know of your uncle's death; for I have reason to doubt it?"

"From Guy; he told me himself."

"When did you see him, and where?"

"Why, I have just told you; I saw him last night at the Salon."

"And you could not be mistaken?"

"Impossible! Besides, he wrote to me a note which I received this
morning--here it is."

"Hem--ha. Well, are you satisfied that this is his handwriting?" said
Trevanion, as he perused the note slowly twice over.

"Why, of course--but stop--you are right; it is not his hand, nor do I
know the writing, now that you direct my attention to it. But what can
that mean? You, surely, do not suppose that I have mistaken any one for
him; for, independent of all else, his knowledge of my family, and my
uncle's affairs, would quite disprove that."

"This is really a complex affair," said Trevanion, musingly. "How long
may it be since you saw your cousin--before last night, I mean?"

"Several years; above six, certainly."