"Very well, and at present on a visit to the Rev. Mr. Brantwell's. But look at this advertisement, here, in the Westport Herald. What the deuce do you make of it?"
Stafford took the paper and carelessly glanced over the lines.
"Faith, I don't know. Somebody's left you a legacy, perhaps."
"Pooh! what a notion! Who under the sun is there to leave a legacy to me? The Campbells are all as poor as Job's turkey."
"Well, there's your mother's relations—the Eyres. Old Richard Eyre, the New York banker, is a millionaire, worth more hundred thousand dollars than I could undertake to count. He might have died and left you his money."
"And leave his own family without? A likely story," said Captain Campbell.
"My dear fellow, he had no family, except a wife, and she has been dead for many years. You may be certain he has left you his heir."
"By Jove! if it should prove to be true, that would be a streak of good luck. But it cannot be. Dame Fortune would never bestow on a Campbell any such friendly smile. They always were an impoverished race, and always will be, I believe."
"Don't be too confident. Strange things happen sometimes. For instance, I saw something strange a night or two ago.
"Yes? What is it?"