CHAPTER XIV.

MR. CLEFFAIN'S WILL.

"I ALWAYS said that boy was a hypocrite and a deceiver ; I never could bear the expression of his countenance," said Mrs. Beaumont, haughtily, as she drew her long Indian shawl closer round her shoulder and spread out its gilded border upon her knee. She was leaning back in a chair in a small but luxuriously furnished room, with two or three novels by her side,—one of which lay open with a sandal-wood paper-knife across it. Her husband was standing by her.

"You always did say so, my dear," said he, "with that singular discernment of character for which you have been so remarkable. I, I confess, have often been taken in by the young villain. I did think sometimes that there was something in that sanctimonious face of his, and in his mother's too."

"Oh, the odious woman," cried Mrs. Beaumont, "I never could bear her, the fawning hypocrite, and all to get the old gentleman's money. What should religious people want with money, I should like to know."

"Well, my dear, I suppose religious people want it as much as irreligious."

"Then they ought not," said the lady, pettishly; "they profess to live above such things, and so they should be consistent. For my part, I think that Mr. Cleffain ought to be made aware what a viper he has been cherishing. It isn't for the money for Raymond that I care. I do hate to see good people imposed upon, and to think of that dear old man being so taken in,—well,” ended Mrs. Beaumont, as she threw herself further back

in her chair and resumed her novel, "You must do what you think good. But, for my part, I cannot under

stand you."

"Oh, my dear, I quite feel with you as to the boy, but I don't see my way to speaking to Mr. Cleffain; he is very peculiar you know," so saying, Mr. Beaumont left the room.

He had not been gone five minutes, when Raymond came in.

"Well, my beloved child," said Mrs. Beaumont, placing her hand on his luxuriant hair, of which she had always been proud, "what a shame all this is-shameful!"

"It is indeed, mother," said Raymond; "I did think that he could not have acted so doubly after all the kindness, too, which I have shown him."

:

"Oh, you dear noble boy, it is so like you to talk so kindly of one who is so immeasurably below you in every thing,-bless you, but you are too forgiving, too trusting. I want to see Mr. Cleffain's eyes opened."

"Yes, mother, but I can't do that; you know it would all look like the money question. Oh, no, that's impossible, quite besides, it wouldn't be generous. Still old Cleffain ought to know about it, I own."

"And he shall, too," said Mrs. Beaumont, "if your father has not the spirit to do it, somebody else must." "Raymond, Raymond, where are you, old fellow ?" cried Stapleton, outside.

"That delightful youth," said Mrs. Beaumont, "oh, do cultivate him well, Raymond, he will be of such value to you in future life.”

Stapleton threw the door open, and immediately assumed an air of consummate courteousness as he approached the benign lady, who delicately extended her

hand laden with jewels to him, putting on her most charming smile.

"Isn't this shocking ?" said he, assuming an air of deep regret and sadness. "So utterly unexpected! such a downfall to one's hopes and expectations! It is such a pity. Because, when a person who professes so much, acts in that way, it is so damaging to the cause of religion,—and that is so wrong, so sad."

"Excellent," said the lady, "so like yourself, Sir Walter, so sound, so honest, so truly good; oh, would that all were like you,-what a blessing that my boy has such an example, such a friend! what a blessing, instead of that hypocrite Eustace. And yet I do believe, Sir Walter, that my good husband would have thrown Raymond entirely on to the boy, if it had not been for my influence. I do flatter myself I am a good discerner of character."

"Excellent; yes, indeed, we all know that."

"But, my dear Sir Walter," said the lady, rising, "you want to speak to Raymond. I will leave you: only promise that in half an hour you will be ready to take a walk with me round the garden. Ah, you are a very faithless boy, you promised yesterday, and you never came; no excuses now, no excuses,-I extend forgiveness to you for it,-only be true to-day."

So saying, the lady left the room with her sweetest smile, and Raymond and Stapleton were alone.

"I say, old fellow," said Stapleton, "look here; we must open the old man's eyes, for Burton told me this morning that Cleffain has written to his lawyer to come to see him: it is something about his will. Now there's no telling how soon the old gentleman may die, so we ought to be acting."

"Well, but what do you want me to do?" asked Raymond.

“Why, look here, don't you remember that emerald ring which Mr. Cleffain showed us boys some weeks ago, which he kept in that little box locked up in the whitepainted cupboard in the octagon ?"

"Yes," said Raymond, "and what of that ?"

"Well, what? why I met Burton in a great hurry this morning going out, and he said to me, 'don't mention it, Sir Walter, but master's lost that emerald ring, and I am to go and get a warrant to search the servants' boxes, for master is sure some one who knows about the house has taken it, for he found the lock of the cupboard forced, and the box and ring gone."

"Well," said Raymond, looking astonished at the disaster, but still a little puzzled at Stapleton's confused

manner.

"Well," said the other, with evident hesitation and awkwardness, "what do you think I've found? Come closer, old fellow. Why I was going by Cox's shop-you know it and he called me in, and said, 'Mr. Stapleton, a word with you in the back room :' so I went in. I saw something was the matter, you know. He opened a drawer and took out the very box and the ring."

"What!" said Raymond, starting, "Cox!"

"Yes-yes-stop a minute," said Stapleton; "yes, but hear. Cox said, 'Sir Walter, I don't quite know what to do about this ring; I suspect something wrong. Young Mr. Sherwood, you know, he who goes to school with Master Raymond, brought it me this morning.' "Eustace!" cried Raymond, in a cry of unfeigned astonishment, "it's a lie-it's impossible!"

,,,

Stop a moment," said Stapleton, "there's certain proof of it. Cox went on to say that Eustace brought it him, and said he wished to pawn it, for he wanted a little ready money, for his mother was very poor, and he couldn't

bear to see her want, and he said it was his mother's ring, which his father had left her—that she did not want to part with it, but only to raise a small sum of money on it—and that he would repay that money very quickly out of some he expected from the old gentleman-Cleffain, you know. Well, Cox, of course, believes the story, because he trusts Eustace. He lends him £10 on the ring, and away goes Eustace. But Cox got uneasy; because, as he said, he did not quite see, knowing how poor Mrs. Sherwood was, how she could have had a valuable jewel without turning it to better account long ago."

"Monstrous!" said Raymond, in an undertone; "is it possible ?"

"Not only possible, but true-quite true," said his companion; "and it's the blackest piece of villainy I ever heard of. For, just see, of course he leads old Cleffain to suspect every servant in his house; he might get them all into awful grief, and all that, to say nothing of the dishonesty of taking it at all. It's downright stealing. He may have meant to bring it back again by-and-by ; but it's stealing for all that.”

"Stealing! of course it is," cried Raymond. "How shocking! what is to be done?"

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Well, there's the thing," said Stapleton, plunging his hands into his pocket, and assuming an air of considerable anxiety. "What I feel is that old Cleffain ought to

be told of it."

"Ought to be!" cried Raymond. "He must be-he shall be. I'll tell him myself. Impostor! cheat! liar! How gulled I have been by that boy!"

"Well, it is very sad," said the other. "It is painful to have to tell it all of a fellow, and I felt miserable; but truth's truth, you know, and no mistake."

"Well, then, what's to be done ?" said Raymond,