ntained in a small oak
casket with a variety of other papers, some in quaint French, some
in Latin. The box was built in so as to form a portion of a curiously
carved chimney-piece, and chance alone led to its discovery."

"I hope you secured the documents?" cried Hankes, eagerly.

"Yes, sir; here they are, box and all. The Rector advised me to carry
them away for security' sake." And so saying, she laid upon the table a
massively bound and strong-built box, of about a foot in length.

It was with no inexperienced hand that Mr. Hankes proceeded to
investigate the contents. His well-practised eye rapidly caught the
meaning of each paper as he lifted it up, and he continued to mutter to
himself his comments upon them. "This document is an ancient grant of
the lands of Cloughrennin to the monks of the Abbey of Castlerosse, and
bears date 1104. It speaks of certain rights reserved to the Baron Hugh
Pritchard Conway. Conway--Conway," mumbled he, twice or thrice; "that's
the very name I tried and could not remember yesterday, Miss Kellett.
You asked me about a certain soldier whose daring capture of a Russian
officer was going the round of the papers. The young fellow had but one
arm too; now I remember, his name was Conway."

"Charles Conway! Was it Charles Conway?" cried she, eagerly; "but it
could be no other,--he had lost his right arm."

"I 'm not sure which, but he had only one, and he was called an orderly
on the staff of the Piedmontese General."

"Oh, the noble fellow! I could have sworn he would distinguish himself.
Tell me it all again, sir; where did it happen, and how, and when?"

Mr. Hankes's memory was now to be submitted to a very searching test,
and he was called on to furnish details which might have puzzled "Our
own Correspondent." Had Charles Conway been rewarded for his gallantry?
What notice had his bravery elicited? Was he promoted, and to what
rank? Had he been decorated, and with what order? Were his wounds, as
reported, only trifling? Where was he now?--was he in hospital or on
service? She grew impatient at how little he knew,--how little the
incident seemed to have impressed him. "Was it possible," she asked,
"that heroism like this was so rife that a meagre paragraph was deemed
enough to record it,--a paragraph, too, that forgot to state what had
become of its hero?"

"Why, my dear Miss Kellett," interposed he, at length, "one reads a
dozen such achievements every week."

"I deny it, sir