re all discretion."

"The case is this," said Sedley. "Montague Bramleigh, of Cossenden
Manor, married Enrichetta, daughter of Giacomo Lami, the painter. The
marriage was celebrated at the village church of Portshandon, and duly
registered. They separated soon after,--she retiring to Holland with her
father, who had compromised himself in the Irish rebellion of '98. A son
was born to this marriage, christened and registered in the Protestant
church at Louvain as Godfrey Lami Bramleigh. To his christening
Bramleigh was entreated to come; but under various pretexts he excused
himself, and sent a costly present for the occasion. His letters,
however, breathed nothing but affection, and fully recognized the boy as
his son and his heir. Captain Bramleigh is, I know, impatient at the
length of these details, but I can't help it. Indignant at the treatment
of his daughter, Lami sent back the gift with a letter of insulting
meaning. Several letters were interchanged of anger and recrimination;
and Enrichetta, whose health had long been failing, sunk under the
suffering of her desertion, and died. Lami left Holland, and repaired to
Germany, carrying the child with him. He was also accompanied by a
younger daughter, Carlotta, who, at the time I refer to, might have been
sixteen or seventeen years of age. Lami held no intercourse with
Bramleigh from this date, nor, so far as we know, did Bramleigh take
measures to learn about the child,--how he grew up, or where he was.
Amongst the intimates of Lami's family was a man whose name is not
unfamiliar to newspaper readers of some thirty or forty years back,--a
man who had figured in various conspiracies, and contrived to escape
scathless where his associates had paid the last penalty of their
crimes. This man became the suitor of Carlotta, and won her affections,
although Giacomo neither liked nor trusted Niccolo Baldassare--"

"Stop, there," cried Jack, rising, and leaning eagerly across the table.
"Say that name again."

"Niccolo Baldassare."

"My old companion,--my comrade at the galleys," exclaimed Jack; "we were
locked to each other, wrist and ankle, for eight months."

"He lives, then?"

"I should think he does. The old beggar is as stout and hale as any one
here. I can't guess his age; but I'll answer for his vigor."

"This will be all important hereafter," said Sedley, making a note. "Now
to my narrative. From Lami, Baldassare learned the story of Enrichetta's
unhappy m