“She's the great heiress, then,” broke in Quackinboss; “she's to have Peddar's Clearings, and the whole of that track beside Grove's River. There ain't such another fortune in all Ohio.”
“And this was poor Clara's secret,” said Alfred to Quackinboss, in a whisper, “when she said, 'I only know that I am an orphan, and that my name is not Clara Morris.'”
“Do you think, then, sir, that such a rogue as that fellow Trover went out all the way to the Western States to make out that gal's right to these territories?” asked Quackinboss, gravely.
“Not a bit of it. He went to rob her, to cheat her, to put forward some false claim, to substitute some other in her place,” cried old Layton. “Who is to say if he himself be not the man Morris, and the husband of our fair friend? He may have fifty names, for aught we know, and Morris be one of them.”
“You told me that Clara had been made over to a certain Mr. Stocmar, to prepare her for the stage.” said Alfred to the American. But before he could reply the doctor broke in,—
“Stocmar,—Hyman Stocmar, of the Regent's?”
“The same. Do you know him, father?”
“That do I, and well too. What of him?”
“It was to his care this young lady was intrusted,” said Alfred, blushing at the very thought of alluding to her.
“If there should be dealings with Stocmar, let them be left to me.” said the doctor, firmly. “I will be able to make better terms with him than either of you.”