ropic suddenness. He left one child only, his
daughter Mildred, then just turned of eighteen; and as Mrs. Kinloch had
only one son to claim her affection, the motherless girl would seem to be
well provided for. Mildred was sweet-tempered, and her step-mother had
hitherto been discreet and kind.

The funeral was over, and the townspeople recovered from the shock which
the sudden death had caused. Administration was granted to the widow
conjointly with Squire Clamp, the lawyer, and the latter was appointed
guardian for Mildred during her minority.

Squire Clamp was an ill-favored man, heavy-browed and bald, and with a
look which, in a person of less consequence, would have been called "hang-
dog,"--owing partly, no doubt, to the tribulation he had suffered from his
vixen spouse, whose tongue was now happily silenced. He was the town's
only lawyer, (a fortunate circumstance,) so that he could frequently
manage to receive fees for advice from both parties in a controversy. He
made all the wills, deeds, and contracts, and settled all the estates he
could get hold of. But no such prize as the Kinloch property had ever
before come into his hands.

If Squire Clamp's reputation for shrewdness had belonged to an irreligious
man, it would have been of questionable character; but as he was a zealous
member of the church, he was protected from assaults upon his integrity.
If there were suspicions, they were kept close, not bruited abroad.

He was now an almost daily visitor at the widow Kinloch's. What was the
intricate business that required the constant attention of a legal
adviser? The settlement of the estate, so far as the world knew, was an
easy matter. The property consisted of the dwelling-house, a small tract
of land near the village, a manufactory at the dam, by the side of Ralph
Hardwick's blacksmith's shop, and money, plate, furniture, and stocks.
There were no debts. There was but one child, and, after the assignment of
the widow's dower, the estate was Mildred's. Nothing, therefore, could be
simpler for the administrators. The girl trusted to the good faith of her
stepmother and the justice of the lawyer, who now stood to her in the
place of a father. She was an orphan, and her innocence and childlike
dependence would doubtless be a sufficient spur to the consciences of her
protectors. So the girl thought, if she thought at all,--and so all
charitable people were bound to think.

How wearily the days passed during