to be outdone in generosity, "is Nicholas
Judge."

"Very well, Mr. Judge. Now we understand each other, I think. I asked
your name as a guaranty of good faith. Anonymous contributions cannot be
received, et cetera,--as they say at the head of newspapers. And that's
my rule of business, Sir. People come to me to ask the character of a
girl, and I ask their names. If they don't want to give them, I say,
'Very well; I can't intrust the girl's character to people without
name.' And it brings them out, Sir, it brings them out," said Mr.
Manlius, leaning back, and taking a distant view of his masterly
diplomacy.

"Do people come to you to inquire after persons' characters?" asked
Nicholas, somewhat surprised at happening upon such an oracle.

"Well, in a general way, no," said Mr. Manlius, smiling; "though I won't
say but that they would succeed as well here as in most places. In a
particular way, yes. I keep an intelligence-office. Here is my card,
Sir,"--pulling one out of his waistcoat-pocket, and presenting it to
Nicholas; "and you will see by the phraseology employed, that I have
unrivalled means for securing the most valuable help from all parts of
the world. Mr. Judge," he whispered, leaning forward, and holding up his
forefinger to enforce strict secrecy, "I keep a paid agent in Nova
Scotia." And once more Mr. Manlius retreated in his chair, to get the
whole effect of the announcement upon his visitor.

The internal economy of an office for obtaining and furnishing
intelligence might have been further revealed to Nicholas; but at this
moment a voice was heard on the outside of the door, calling, "S'prian!
S'prian! we're 'most ready."

"Coming, Caroline," replied Mr. Manlius, and, recalled to the object for
which his visitor was there, he turned to Nicholas, and resumed,--

"Well, Mr. Judge, about Miss Eunice Brown, whether she lives here or
not. Are you personally acquainted with Miss Brown?"

"No, Sir," said Nicholas, frankly. "I will tell you plainly my
predicament. Miss Eunice Brown was my mother's sister; but after my
mother's death, which took place at my birth, there was no intercourse
with her on the part of our family, which consisted of my father and
myself. My father, I ought to say, had no unfriendliness toward her, but
his habits of life were those of a solitary student; and therefore he
took no pains to keep up the acquaintance. He heard of her marriage, and
the subsequent death of her husband; r