months past."

"Then I have a very extraordinary story to tell you. You know, of
course, that Alfred had an uncle, Stephen Monkton. Well, some time ago
this uncle fought a duel in the Roman States with a Frenchman, who shot
him dead. The seconds and the Frenchman (who was unhurt) took to flight
in different directions, as it is supposed. We heard nothing here of
the details of the duel till a month after it happened, when one of the
French journals published an account of it, taken from the papers left
by Monkton's second, who died at Paris of consumption. These papers
stated the manner in which the duel was fought, and how it terminated,
but nothing more. The surviving second and the Frenchman have never been
traced from that time to this. All that anybody knows, therefore, of the
duel is that Stephen Monkton was shot; an event which nobody can regret,
for a greater scoundrel never existed. The exact place where he
died, and what was done with the body are still mysteries not to be
penetrated."

"But what has all this to do with Alfred?"

"Wait a moment, and you will hear. Soon after the news of his uncle's
death reached England, what do you think Alfred did? He actually put off
his marriage with Miss Elmslie, which was then about to be celebrated,
to come out here in search of the burial-place of his wretched scamp of
an uncle; and no power on earth will now induce him to return to England
and to Miss Elmslie until he has found the body, and can take it back
with him, to be buried with all the other dead Monktons in the vault
under Wincot Abbey Chapel. He has squandered his money, pestered
the police, and exposed himself to the ridicule of the men and the
indignation of the women for the last three months in trying to achieve
his insane purpose, and is now as far from it as ever. He will not
assign to anybody the smallest motive for his conduct. You can't laugh
him out of it or reason him out of it. When we met him just now, I
happen to know that he was on his way to the office of the police
minister, to send out fresh agents to search and inquire through the
Roman States for the place where his uncle was shot. And, mind, all this
time he professes to be passionately in love with Miss Elmslie, and to
be miserable at his separation from her. Just think of that! And then
think of his self-imposed absence from her here, to hunt after the
remains of a wretch who was a disgrace to the family, and whom he never
saw but