u?"

"I have the best authority for my statements," said Maurice, who, for
reasons known to the reader, did not like to tell how he gained the
information; "but I am not at liberty to say more."

"You are very mysterious."

"What I have told you is the truth. If you don't call it robbery, I
do."

"All I have got to say is, that if Gilbert claims to be anybody's
nephew, I have no doubt he is. He wouldn't forge a paper for anything."

"That's where you and I don't agree."

"I think it's rather mean of you, Maurice Walton, to come here to
slander a friend."

"He isn't my friend. Perhaps he is yours."

"You are right there," said Bessie, firmly. "He is my friend."

"Perhaps, when he gets that fortune, you'll marry him?" said Maurice,
sarcastically.

"He hasn't asked me yet," said Bessie, blushing.

This was too much for Maurice. He began to see that Bessie liked
Gilbert more than he suspected, and that, by his blundering, he had
only helped matters along. He sulkily bade his cousin good-night, and,
returning home, bethought himself of his promise to Mr. Grey, and,
though it was late, sat down and wrote him a letter.

CHAPTER XXVII.

JAMES GREY'S RESIDENCE.

About a mile from the bank of the Mississippi River, in the small town
of Clayton, stood a handsome house. It was on a commanding site, and
could be seen by the travelers bound up the river, from the decks of
the large river-boats. It stood in lonely grandeur, with no other
houses very near, and those that were within a respectful distance from
it were far inferior. The occupant might be judged to be, in his
neighborhood, a person of some consideration.

This was the mansion of James Grey, already introduced to our readers.

What motives had led him to pitch his tent in such a spot, can only be
conjectured. He came thither directly from the city of Cincinnati,
having lived in a hotel near by while he hurried the erection of this
house. He came thither with his son, (his wife was dead), and had lived
there ever since, though, from time to time, he absented himself on a
trip to St. Louis, or, in rarer instances, Cincinnati. It is not
unlikely that, knowing himself to be guilty of a fraudulent
appropriation of his nephew's property, he had chosen to withdraw from
the busy world, and plant himself in this comparatively obscure place,
where he was not likely to be visited by any one cognizant of the
manner in which he obtained his money.

Indeed