"Sir Cecil is no more.

Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage.

The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland." "Are you man, or fiend ?" exclaimed Trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration.
"You are complimentary, Sir Rowland," returned the other, with a grim smile.
"If you _are_ human," rejoined Trenchard, with stern emphasis, "I insist upon knowing whence you derived your information ?" "I might refuse to answer the question, Sir Rowland.

But I am not indisposed to gratify you.

Partly, from your confessor; partly, from other sources." "My confessor!" ejaculated the knight, in the extremity of surprise; "has _he_ betrayed his sacred trust ?" "He has," replied the other, grinning; "and this will be a caution to you in future, how you confide a secret of consequence to a priest.