unequal to the task of verifying this money. It
needs a better man of business than myself."

"Then it must go unverified," said Saxon,
taking up rouleaux and papers as they came, and
thrusting them back again, pell-mell, into the
box. " I am no man of business myself, and I
cannot prolong this painful investigation beyond
to-night. We will go on to the declaration."

"If you will tell me what you wish said, I
will draw it up for you," said Mr. Guthrie.

Saxon then whispered his instructions, and the
clergyman's pen ran swiftly over the paper.
When it was all written, he read the declaration
aloud.

"I, William Trefalden, of Chancery-lane,
London, attorney-at-law, do acknowledge and
confess to having obtained the sum of two
millions sterling from my cousin, Saxon Trefalden,
of Switzerland, with intent to defraud him of the
same; and I confess to having deceived him with
the belief that I had invested it for his use and
advantage in the shares of a certain
supposititious Company, which Company had no actual
existence, but was wholly invented and imagined
by myself to serve my own fraudulent ends. I
also confess to having invested those two
millions in such foreign and other securities as I
conceived would turn to my own future profit,
and to having fled from England with the whole
of the property thus abstracted, intending to
escape therewith to the United States of
America, and appropriate the same to my own
purposes.

"I likewise confess to having, two years since,
received the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds
from my client, Gervase Leopold Wynneclyffe,
Earl of Castletowers, which sum it was my duty
to have straightway paid over into the hands of
Oliver Behrens, Esq., of Bread-street, London,
for the liquidation of a mortgage debt contracted
by Lord Castletowers some four years previously;
but which sum I did, nevertheless, appropriate to
my own uses, continuing to pay only the interest
thereof, as heretofore, in the name of my client.

"And I allege that this confession, both as
regards the offence committed by me against my
cousin, Saxon Trefalden, of Switzerland, and as
regards the offence committed by me against my
client, the Earl of Castletowers, is in all
respects substantially and absolutely true, as
witness my signature, given in presence of the
under-mentioned witnesses, this twenty-second
day of September, Anno Domini eighteen
hundred and sixty."

Mr. Guthrie, having read the statement
through, passed it across the table. William
Trefalden, still leaning back carelessly in his
chair, affected to smile at the lawyer-like way in
which the clergyman had rounded his sentences,
but, as the reading proceeded, frowned, and beat
his heel impatiently upon the polished floor.

Saxon pushed the inkstand towards him.

"Your signature," he said.

The lawyer rose—took up a pen—dipped it
in the ink—hesitated—and then, with a sudden
movement of disdain, flung it back upon the
table.

"You have your money," he said, impatiently.
"What more can you want?"

"I require the evidence of your guilt."

"I cannot — will not sign it. Take your
money, in God's name, and let me go!"

Saxon rose, pale and implacable; his hand
upon the bell.

"The alternative lies before you," he said.
"Sign, or I give the signal."

William Trefalden cast a hasty glance about
the room, as if looking for some weapon wherewith
to slake the hatred that glittered in his
eye; then, muttering a fierce oath between his
teeth, snatched up the pen, and, as it were, dug
his name into the paper.

"There, curse you!" he said, savagely. " Are
you satisfied?"

Mr. Guthrie affixed his own signature as
witness to the confession, and Saxon did the same.

"Yes," the young man replied, " I am satisfied.
It only remains for me to fulfil my share of the
compact."

And he selected Bank of England notes to the
value of one thousand pounds.

The lawyer deliberately tore them into as many
fragments.

"I would die a dozen deaths," he said,
"sooner than owe a crust to your bounty."

"As you please. At all events, you are now
free."

Hereupon Mr. Guthrie rose, took the key
from his pocket, and unlocked the outer door.
The lawyer followed him. On the threshold he
turned.

"Saxon Trefalden," he said, in a low, deep,
concentrated tone, " if ever man hated man, I
hate you. I hated you before I ever beheld you,
and I have hated you with a tenfold hatred from
the hour when we first met face to face.
Remember that. Remember that my deadly curse
will be upon you and about you all the days of
your life—upon your children, and upon your
children's children—upon your marriage-bed,
and your death-bed, and your grave. There
is no sorrow, no disease, no shame, that I do
not pray may embitter your life, and blast your
name in this world—no extremity of despair
and anguish which I do not hope may fall to your
portion in the next. Take this for my farewell."

There was something frightful in the absence
of all passion and fury, in the cold, calm,
deliberate emphasis with which William Trefalden
uttered this parting malediction; but Saxon
heard it with a face of solemn pity and wonder,
and looked at him steadily from the first word
to the last.

"May God forgive you as I do," he then said
devoutly. "May God in his infinite mercy
forgive you and pity you, and soften your heart,
and not visit those curses upon your own unhappy
head."

But William Trefalden was already gone, and
heard no word of his cousin's pardon.