appeared abroad.

In the only letter Kearney had received from his brother-in-law after his
sister's death was an insolent demand for a sum of money, which he alleged
that Kearney was unjustly withholding, and which he now threatened to
enforce by law. 'I am well aware,' wrote he, 'what measure of honour or
honesty I am to expect from a man whose very name and designation are a
deceit. But probably prudence will suggest how much better it would be
on this occasion to simulate rectitude than risk the shame of an open
exposure.'

To this gross insult Kearney never deigned any reply; and now more than two
years passed without any tidings of his disreputable relative, when there
came one morning a letter with the Roman postmark, and addressed, '_À
Monsieur le Vicomte de Kilgobbin, à son Château de Kilgobbin, en Irlande._'
To the honour of the officials in the Irish post-office, it was forwarded
to Kilgobbin with the words, 'Try Mathew Kearney, Esq.,' in the corner.

A glance at the writing showed it was not in Kostalergi's hand, and, after
a moment or two of hesitation, Kearney opened it. He turned at once for the
writer's name, and read the words, 'Nina Kostalergi'--his sister's child!
'Poor Matty,' was all he could say for some minutes. He remembered the
letter in which she told him of her little girl's birth, and implored his
forgiveness for herself and his love for her baby.' I want both, my dear
brother,' wrote she; 'for though the bonds we make for ourselves by our
passions--' And the rest of the sentence was erased--she evidently thinking
she had delineated all that could give a clue to a despondent reflection.

The present letter was written in English, but in that quaint, peculiar
hand Italians often write. It began by asking forgiveness for daring to