sciousness was terrible, and she with great difficulty
succeeded in concealing its cause from her anxious and wondering
relatives. Another interview with Chilton appeared to confirm the truth
of his story beyond doubt or question. He produced a formally-drawn-up
document, signed by one Pierce Cunningham, grave-digger of Swords, which
set forth that Charles Gosford was buried on the 26th of June, 1832, and
that the inscription on his tombstone set forth that he had died June 23d
of that year. Also a written averment of Patrick Mullins of Dublin, that
he had lettered the stone at the head of the grave of Charles Gosford in
Swords burying-ground in 1832, and that its date was, as stated by Pierce
Cunningham, June 23, 1832.

"Have you copies of those documents?" asked Mr. Flint.

"Yes: I have brought them with me," the countess replied, and handed them
to Mr. Flint. "In my terror and extremity," continued her ladyship, "and
unguided by counsel--for, till now I have not dared to speak upon the
subject to any person--I have given this Chilton, at various times, large
sums of money--but he is insatiable; and only yesterday--I cannot
repeat his audacious proposal--you will find it in this note."

"Marriage!" exclaimed Mr. Flint with a burst. He had read the note over
my shoulder. "The scoundrel!"

My worthy partner was rather excited. The truth was he had a Clara of
his own at home--a dead sister's child--very pretty, just about
marriageable, and a good deal resembling, as he told me afterwards, our
new and interesting client.

"I would die a thousand deaths rather," resumed Lady Seyton, in a low,
tremulous voice, as she let fall her veil. "Can there," she added in a
still fainter voice, "be anything done--anything"--

"That depends entirely," interrupted Mr. Flint, "upon whether this fine
story is or is not a fabrication, got up for the purpose of extorting
money. It seems to me, I must say, amazingly like one."

"Do you really think so?" exclaimed the lady with joyful vehemence. The
notion that Chilton was perhaps imposing on her credulity and fears
seemed not to have struck her before.

"What do you think, Sharp?" said my partner.

I hesitated to give an opinion, as I did not share in the hope
entertained by Flint. Detection was so certain, that I doubted if so
cunning a person as Chilton appeared to be would have ventured on a fraud
so severely punishable. "Suppose," I said, avoiding an answer, "as this
note appoi