“They are an old family, these Vaughns, and as proud of their honors as
other old and well-to-do families. They have a genealogical tree at Bonniemeer
as tall as one of those California pines, and a crest on the silver, and all that.
Something more than a hundred years ago, Egbert Vaughn, a younger son of the
English family of that name, came to this country and built the old house you
have inherited, giving it the name of Cragness. He died, leaving one son, also
called Egbert, who in due time married a cousin upon the Vaughn side, and
became father of two sons, named Egbert and Alfred. His first wife died when
these boys were twelve and fourteen years old; and he married again, but lost
his second wife in the first year of their marriage. She left one son, named Reginald,
who died in London six weeks since.”

“He was this Mr. Vaughn?” asked John Gillies, tapping with his dry forefinger
upon the letter in his hand.

“He was that Mr. Vaughn,” assented Robinson; “but while Reginald was
still a child the two elder brothers grew to be men, and very quarrelsome men,
too. At least, they could never agree with each other, or with their father, who

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favored sometimes one and sometimes the other of them, but fixed all his affections
upon Reginald, whose mother he had doted on with an old man's fondness.

“Matters finally came to a crisis among them, and, after a violent quarrel,
Alfred Vaughn left Cragness, and subsequently died abroad. At the time of his
disappearance, his father came to town and executed a bill bequeathing the estate
of Cragness and the personals to his youngest son, and all the remainder of his
property, principally derived from the first wife, to Egbert, his eldest son. Alfred
was barely mentioned, and received no bequest. Soon after this, Egbert
was married; and, persuading his father to make over to him his promised
inheritance, he built a handsome house upon the property of Bonniemeer, and
settled there, keeping up but little communication with the father, who, with his
youngest son, lived for a few years at Cragness in a very secluded manner, and
then died, leaving Reginald in possession.

“He, then a young man of two or three-and-twenty, went immediately
abroad and spent many years in travel. Finally, however, he returned home,
stayed a short time at Bonniemeer, and then retired to his own estate, where he
lived a very secluded life until a year or so before his death, when he came to
town and sent for our Mr. Jones, who had an interview with him at his hotel,
and who expressed himself not surprised at Mr. Vaughn's recent disposition of
his property.”

A slight smile wrinkled John Gillies's yellow cheeks. He saw that the younger
lawyer was piqued at the preference thus shown to his partner.

“Mr. Jones desired, however, that either Mr. Brown or myself should see
you when you came,” continued Robinson, “and declined an interview on his
own part, so whatever private clue he may have to Mr. Vaughn's motives does
not seem likely to benefit your researches.”

“And what became of Mr. Egbert Vaughn?” inquired John Gillies, tenaciously
clinging to the point.

“Excuse me, Mr. Gillies, but are not you a Scotchman?”

“Excuse me in turn, Mr. Robinson, but had not we better finish the Vaughn
genealogy before we begin upon mine?”

Mr. Robinson glanced with increasing disfavor at his new client, but answered,
coldly:

“You are quite right, sir. Mr. Egbert Vaughn married, as I have said, and
became the father of several children, who all died young, except a daughter,
now married to Alfred Murray, Esq., of this city, and a son, named Frederic,
who, at his father's demise some years since, inherited the estate of Bonniemeer,
where he at present resides with his wife, a young lady from the Southern
States. He has as yet no children.”

“Then this Mr. Frederic Vaughn and his sister are the only representatives
of the family now alive?”

“So far as I know, they are,” assented the lawyer.

“How far apart are the houses of Bonniemeer and Cragness?”

“About two miles, and each of them nearly that distance from Carrick, the
nearest village. They are both secluded enough. I believe I have now given
you all the information in my possession regarding this family, Mr. Gillies. Can
we be of any further service?”

“I thank you, sir. I may very possibly require your help in this affair before
long;” and the cloud of perplexity upon the clerk's face grew still darker. “I
cannot tell—at any rate you will, if you please, take whatever legal measures are

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necessary for establishing this will, and putting me in possession of the property
I shall be glad to consider your firm as my legal advisers.”

“Certainly, Mr. Gillies, if you feel inclined to honor us with your confidence,'
said Robinson, formally.

“You mean that I have not yet done so,” retorted Gillies, as drily. “You
are quite welcome to all I know of myself, which is just this. I was selected
from the inmates of a foundling hospital by a man named Gillies, a bachelor,
with not a friend or connection in the world, so far as I know. He did not seem
to care very much about me, although he treated me kindly and sent me to a
public school until I was twelve years old. At that time I entered the post-office
where Gillies was a clerk. He died soon after, and I rose through regular
gradations until I reached my present position. I am now forty-five years
old, and, as I told you before, have never been out of the city bounds except for
a country walk, which wearied and disgusted me. I am fond of only one thing
in the world—music. I dislike nothing. You have my history.”

Mr. Robinson looked at him in astonishment.

“And you are going to live at Cragness?” asked he.

“I am going there. Farther I cannot say.”

“But how will a man of your tastes and habits content himself in a solitary
sea-shore house. How will you amuse yourself?”

“I will have an organ,” said John Gillies, softly, as a tinge of color rose to
his sallow cheek, a sign in this impassive nature of rare and overpowering emotion.
“The one wish of my life has been to possess a fine organ. I will have
the best in Germany.”

“Shake hands, Mr. Gillies. I am a musical enthusiast also, and you must
come to my house to-night; we have a few friends and a little concert. I think
you will be pleased with some of the voices.”

“Thank you, but I never visit,” said Gillies, slightly touching the proffered
hand, and rising to go.

“As you please, of course; but I should have been glad to see you,” and the
lawyer showed his new client to the door, with a smile upon his lips and a curse
in his heart.