his name were not Vaudemont--if his history were not, apparently, so well
known, I should say--I should swear, that it is Philip Morton who sleeps
under this roof!"

"Ha!" said Lilburne, with an earnestness that surprised Beaufort, who
expected to have heard his brother-in-law's sneering sarcasm at his
fears; "the likeness you speak of to the old portraits did strike me; it
struck Marsden, too, the other day, as we were passing through the
picture-gallery; and Marsden remarked it aloud to Vaudemont. I remember
now that he changed countenance and made no answer. Hush! hush! hold
your tongue, let me think--let me think. This Philip--yes--yes--I and
Arthur saw him with--with Gawtrey--in Paris--"

"Gawtrey! was that the name of the rogue he was said to--"

"Yes--yes--yes. Ah! now I guess the meaning of those looks--those
words," muttered Lilburne between his teeth. "This pretension to the
name of Vaudemont was always apocryphal--the story always but half
believed--the invention of a woman in love with him--the claim on your
property is made at the very time he appears in England. Ha! Have you a
newspaper there? Give it me. No! 'tis not in this paper. Ring the bell
for the file!"

"What's the matter? you terrify me!" gasped out Mr. Beaufort, as he rang
the bell.

"Why! have you not seen an advertisement repeated several times within
the last month?"

"I never read advertisements; except in the county paper, if land is to