very glad I was enabled to help you
in your strait. Count on me whenever you want me, Sampson. Did you not
say you had a sister at boarding-school? You will want money for her,
sir. Here is a little bill which may help to pay her schooling." And the
liberal young fellow passed a bank-note across to the chaplain.

Again the man was affected to tears. Harry's generosity smote him.

"Mr. Warrington," he said, putting the bank-note a short distance from
him, "I--I don't deserve your kindness--by George, I don't!" and he
swore an oath to corroborate his passionate assertion.

"Psha!" says Harry. "I have plenty more of 'em. There was no money in
that confounded pocket-book which I lost last week."

"No, sir. There was no money!" says Mr. Sampson, dropping his head.

"Hallo! How do you know, Mr. Chaplain?" asks the young gentleman.

"I know because I am a villain, sir. I am not worthy of your kindness.
I told you so. I found the book, sir, that night, when you had too much
wine at Barbeau's."

"And read the letters?" asked Mr. Warrington, starting up and turning
very red.

"They told me nothing I did not know, sir," said the chaplain "You have
had spies about you whom you little suspect--from whom you are much too
young and simple to be able to keep your secret."

"Are those stories about Lady Fanny, and my cousin Will and his doings,
true then?" inquired Harry.

"Yes, they are true," sighed the chaplain. "The house of Castlewood has
not been fortunate, sir, since your honour's branch, the elder branch,
left it."

"Sir, you don't dare for to breathe a word against my Lady Maria?" Harry
cried out.

"Oh, not for worlds!" says Mr. Sampson, with a queer look at his young
friend. "I may think she is too old for your honour, and that 'tis a
pity you should not have a wife better suited to your age, though
I admit she looks very young for hers, and hath every virtue and
accomplishment."

"She is too old, Sampson, I know she is," says Mr. Warrington, with much
majesty; "but she has my word, and you see, sir, how fond she is of
me. Go bring me the letters, sir, which you found, and let me try and
forgive you for having seized upon them."

"My benefactor, let me try and forgive myself!" cries Mr. Sampson, and
departed towards his chamber, leaving his young patron alone over his
wine.

Sampson returned presently, looking very pale. "What has happened, sir?"
says Harry, with an imperious air.

The chaplain held out a