ar more, and yet too delicate to
venture on a question.

"Yes; he writes to me for some title-deeds or other. I did n't pay much
attention, exactly, to what he says. Glen-core's man of business had
addressed a letter to him."

The Russian bowed, and waited for him to resume; but, apparently, he had
rather fatigued himself by such unusual loquacity, and so he lay back in
his chair, and puffed his cigar in indolent enjoyment.

"A goodish sort of thing for _you_ it ought to be," said Baynton,
between the puffs of his tobacco smoke, and with a look towards Selby.

"I suspect it may," said the other, without the slightest change of tone
or demeanor.

"Where is it,--somewhere in the south?"

"Mostly, Devon. There's something in Wales too, if I remember aright."

"Nothing Irish?"

"No, thank Heaven,--nothing Irish;" and his grim Lordship made the
nearest advance to a smile of which his unplastic features seemed
capable.

"Do I understand you aright, my Lord," said the Prince, "that you
receive an accession of fortune by this event?"

"I shall, if I survive Glencore," was the brief reply.

"You are related, then?"

"Some cousinship,--I forget how it is. Do you remember, Baynton?"

"I'm not quite certain. I think it was a Coventry married one of Jack
Conway's sisters, and she afterwards became the wife of Sir something
Massy. Isn't that it?"

"Yes, that's it," muttered the other, in the tone of a man who was tired
of a knotty problem.

"And, according to your laws, this Lord Glencore may marry again?" cried
the Russian.

"I should think so, if he has no wife living," said Selby; "but I trust,
for _my_ sake, he'll not."

"And what if he should, and should be discovered the wedded husband of
another?"

"That would be bigamy," said Selby. "Would they hang him, Baynton?"

"I think not,--scarcely," rejoined the Colonel.

The Prince tried in various ways to obtain some insight into Lord
Glencore's habits, his tastes and mode of life, but all in vain. They
knew, indeed, very little, but even that little they were too indolent
to repeat. Lord Selby's memory was often at fault, too, and Baynton's
had ill supplied the deficiency. Again and again did the Russian mutter
curses to himself over the apathy of these stony islanders. At moments
he fancied that they suspected his eagerness, and had assumed their most
guarded caution against him; but he soon perceived that this manner was
natural to them, not prompted in