s therefore as well, sir, that there is no question of a
compromise to lay before you. You are for strict justice and no favor."

"I repeat, Mr. Sedley, I am for him who has the right."

"So am I," quickly responded Sedley; "and we alone differ about the
meaning of that word; but let me ask another question. Are you aware
that this claim extends to nearly everything you have in the world;
that the interest alone on the debt would certainly swallow up all your
funded property, and make a great inroad, besides, on your securities
and foreign bonds?"

"I can well believe it," said the other, mournfully.

"I must say, sir," said Sedley, as he rose and proceeded to thrust the
papers hurriedly into his bag, "that though I am highly impressed--very
highly impressed, indeed, with the noble sentiments you have delivered
on this occasion--sentiments, I am bound to admit, that a long
professional career has never made me acquainted with till this
day--yet, on the whole, Mr. Bramleigh, looking at the question with a
view to its remote consequences, and speculating on what would result if
such opinions as yours were to meet a general acceptance, I am bound,
to say I prefer the verdict of twelve men in a jury-box to the most
impartial judgment of any individual breathing; and I wish you a very
good-night."

What Mr. Sedley muttered to himself as he ascended the stairs, in what
spirit he canvassed the character of Mr. Augustus Bramleigh, the reader
need not know; and it is fully as well that our story does not require
it should be recorded. One only remark, however, may be preserved; it
was said as he reached the door of his room, and apparently in a sort
of summing up of all that had occurred to him,--"These creatures, with
their cant about conscience, don't seem to know that this mischievous
folly would unsettle half the estates in the kingdom; and there 's not
a man in England would know what he was born to, till he had got his
father in a madhouse."

CHAPTER XXIX. THE HOTEL BRISTOL

In a handsome apartment of the Hotel Bristol at Paris, sat Lord and
Lady Culduff at tea. They were in deep mourning; and though they were
perfectly alone, the room was splendidly lighted--branches of candles
figuring on every console, and the glass lustre that hung from the
ceiling a blaze of waxlights.

If Lord Culduff looked older and more careworn than we have lately
seem him, Marion seemed in higher bloom and beauty, and the haughty,