An exclamation of surprise burst involuntarily from the lips of the youth.  “Has my father ever made any allusion to that packet since?” he asked.

“Never,” returned Captain Blessington; “and, I confess, his failing to do so has often excited my astonishment.  But why do you ask?”

De Haldimar energetically pressed the arm of his captain, while a heavy sigh burst from his oppressed heart “This very night, Blessington, on entering my father’s apartment to apprise him of what was going on here, I saw,—­I can scarcely tell you what, but certainly enough to convince me, from what you have now stated, Halloway was, in some degree or other, connected with our family.  Tell me,” he anxiously pursued, “was there a portrait enclosed with the letters?”

“I cannot state with confidence, Charles,” replied his friend; “but if I might judge from the peculiar form and weight of the packet, I should be inclined to say not.  Have you seen the letters, then?”

“I have seen certain letters which, I have reason to believe, are the same,” returned De Haldimar.  “They were addressed to ‘Reginald;’ and Halloway, I think you have told me, was so called by his unhappy wife.”

“There can be little doubt they are the same,” said Captain Blessington; “but what were their contents, and by whom written, that you deem they prove a connection between the unhappy soldier and your family?”

De Haldimar felt the blood rise into his cheek, at this natural but unexpected demand.  “I am sure, Blessington,” he replied, after a pause, “you will not think me capable of unworthy mystery towards yourself but the contents of these letters are sacred, inasmuch as they relate only to circumstances connected with my father’s family.”

“This is singular indeed,” exclaimed Captain Blessington, in a tone that marked his utter and unqualified astonishment at what had now been disclosed to him; “but surely, Charles,” he pursued, “if the packet handed me by Halloway were the same you allude to, he would have caused the transfer to have been made before the period chosen by him for that purpose.”

“But the name,” pursued De Haldimar; “how are we to separate the identity of the packets, when we recur to that name of ‘Reginald?’”

“True,” rejoined the musing Blessington; “there is a mystery in this that baffles all my powers of penetration.  Were I in possession of the contents of the letters, I might find some clue to solve the enigma:  but—–­”

“You surely do not mean this as a reproach, Blessington?” fervently interrupted the youth.  “More I dare not, cannot say, for the secret is not my own; and feelings, which it would be dishonour to outrage, alone bind me to silence.  What little I have revealed to you even now, has been uttered in confidence.  I hope you have so understood it.”

“Perfectly, Charles.  What you have stated, goes no further; but we have been too long absent from our guard, and I confess I have no particular fancy for remaining in this chill night-air.  Let us return.”