“Have the goodness, if you please, to hand me the baronetage.”  I did so.  “Good,” resumed Ferret, after turning over the leaves for a few seconds, “very good, as far as it goes.  It is now just two years and eight months since Sir Harry succeeded his uncle in the title and estates.  You would no doubt soon have heard, madam, that your husband was dead.  Truly the heart of man is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; and yet such conduct towards such a lady”—­Ferret intended no mere compliment; he was only giving utterance to the thoughts passing through his brain; but his client’s mounting color warned him to change the topic, which he very adroitly did.  “You intend, of course,” said he, addressing me, “to proceed at law?  No rumble—­tumble through the spiritual courts?”

“Certainly, if sufficient evidence to justify such a course can be obtained.”

“Exactly:  Doe, demise of Compton, versus Emsdale; action in ejectment, judgment of ouster.  Our friend Doe, madam—­a very accommodating fellow is Doe—­will, if we succeed, put you in possession as natural guardian of your son.  Well, sir,” turning to me, “I may as well give you an acknowledgment for that cheque.  I undertake the business, and shall, if possible, be off to Leeds by this evening’s mail.”  The acknowledgment was given, and Mr. Ferret, pocketing the cheque, departed in high glee.

“The best man, madam, in all broad London,” said I in answer to Mrs. Grainger’s somewhat puzzled look, “you could have retained.  Fond as he seems, and in fact is, of money—­what sensible person is not?—­Lord Emsdale could not bribe him with his earldom, now that he is fairly engaged in your behalf, I will not say to betray you, but to abate his indefatigable activity in furtherance of your interests.  Attorneys, madam, be assured, whatever nursery tales may teach, have, the very sharpest of them, their points of honor.”  The lady and her son departed, and I turned again to the almost forgotten “case.”

Three weeks had nearly glided by, and still no tidings of Mr. Ferret.  Mrs. Grainger, and her sister Emily Dalston, a very charming person, had called repeatedly; but as I of course had nothing to communicate, they were still condemned to languish under the heart-sickness caused by hope deferred.  At last our emissary made his wished-for appearance.

“Well, Mr. Ferret,” said I, on entering my library, where I found him composedly awaiting my arrival, “what success?”

“Why, nothing of much consequence as yet,” replied he; “I am, you know, only, as it were, just commencing the investigation.  The Leeds parson that married them is dead, and the old clerk is paralytic, and has lost his memory.  If, however, they were both alive, and in sound health of mind and body, they could, I fancy, help us but little, as Bilston tells me neither the Dalstons nor Grainger had ever entered the church till the morning of the wedding; and they soon afterwards removed to Cumberland, so