the back parlour and tell me about it. Why, I
didn't think the old lady was going so soon."

"Not there, John, not there," said Letty, as
she stood before the door.

"I'll go up and see her at once."

"No, no, John, you must not. Not yet."

"Why, what's all this fuss about, Letty?"
said Harkness, angrily. "One would think no one
had ever died before. Of course it's a bad job,
and we're all very sorry; but what must be,
must be. It is as bad as crying over spilt
milk."

"Oh, John, you never spoke like this before.
You never looked like this before. John, you
do not really love me." And she burst into a
passionate and almost hysterical weeping.

"Nonsense, nonsense, Letty; you know I
do. We can marry now, now she's left me her
money. I've got rather into a mess lately about
tin. It's that old woman who lies up-stairs, and
my stingy hard old governor, who kept us so long
from marrying and being happy. We will marry
in a month or two now, let who will say nay. By
George! if there isn't the bureau where she used
to keep her papers. The will must be there. There
is no harm in having a look at it. Where are
the keys, Letty? Go and get them from her
room. She's no use, I suppose, for them now?
She kept them tight enough while she was alive.
Come, hurry off, Letty; this is a turning-point
with me."

Letty threw herself before the old bureau, the
tears rolling from her eyes. "Oh, John, John,"
she said, "do not be so cruel and hard hearted.
What evil spirit of greed possesses you? You
were not so once. I cannot get the keys. Wait.
Have you no love for the dead?"

"Stuff and nonsense. I want no whining
sentiments. I thought you were a girl of more
pluck and sense. Get away from that bureau.
I'll soon prise it open. It's all mine now. Mind,
I'm queer this morning. Things haven't gone
smooth with me lately at all. Get away."

He pushed the weeping girl from the desk,
and, thrusting in the blade of a large knife,
wrenched open the front of the bureau. A
will fell out. As he stooped to snatch it up the
door opened, and the old doctor stood before
him. There were tears in his eyes as he
motioned Letty from the room. She gave one
long look back, and the door was locked behind
her. There was a terrible stern gravity in
the old man's pale face, and his mouth was
clenched as if fixed with the pang of some mortal
agony.

John Harkness stepped back and clutched hold
of the shattered bureau, or he would have fallen.

"John," said the old man, "you have deceived
me. I loved you, loved you Heaven only knows
how tenderly. There was a time when I would
have bled to death to save you an hour's pain.
There was a time when I thought more of your
smallest disappointment than I should have done
for the loss of one of my own limbs. I fostered
you; I took you from a bad father, and brought
you up as my own son. I have been
foolishly indulgent, and now, like Absalom, you
have taught me bitterly my folly. You have
forged—you have lied. Yes, don't dare to
speak, sir. You have lied. Blacker and blacker
your heart became as you gave yourself to self-
indulgence and sin. Further and further you
erred from the narrow path; faster and faster
you drove down hill, till at last, forsaken by the
good angels, and urged forward by the devil,
the great temptation came, and you fell into
CRIME. Not a word, sir; you see I know all.
Old as I am, 'twas love for you made me subtle.
I found out your forgeries. I discovered your
false entries of patients' names. I traced you out
in all your follies and vices, and finally I saw you,
when you thought me asleep, take the key-ring
from my finger, and make those entries in a
forged hand in my case-book, that might, but
for God's infinite mercy, have led to my being
now in prison as a murderer. You may start;
but even a horrible cold-blooded crime did not
appal you. It is fear, and not repentance, that
even now makes you turn pale. The sin of
Cain is upon you. Even now, eager faces are
looking up from the lowest abysses of hell, waiting
for your coming; while, from the nearest
heaven, the pale sad face of one who loved you
as a mother, regards you with sorrow and with
pity."

"Father, father!" cried the unhappy and
conscience-stricken wretch, and held out his hands
like one waiting for the death-blow from the
executioner. "Have mercy. Spare me. I did
not kill her. She would have died, anyhow.
I am young; give me time to repent."

"John, I will not deceive you as you have
deceived me. My sister still lives. I discovered
your intended crime, and gave her antidotes.
She may yet recover, if it seems good to the all-
merciful Father; still you had murdered her but
for me. Tell me not of repentance. Time will
show that. I shall never hear in this world
whether or not your repentance is true or
false. Here is one hundred pounds. That will
start you in another hemisphere for good or for
evil. I wish, for the honour of our family, to
conceal your shame, and the last spark of love
that is left, urges me to conceal your intended
crime. Letty you will see no more. I, too,
am dead to you for ever. It is now one hour to
the next train. Spend that time in preparing
for your journey. At the nearest seaport write
to me, and I will forward all that belongs to
you. Your debts shall be paid. I shall tell
people that a sudden spirit of adventure made
you leave me and start for Australia."

"But Letty—one word," groaned the
discovered criminal. "I love her—one word. I
forgot her for a time in my cruel selfishness;
but I love her now—mercy—one——"

"Not one word. She is ignorant of your
crime, but she knows that you are unworthy of
her love. Mind, one struggle, one word of
opposition, and I throw you into prison as a forger,
and a man who had planned a murder. Go; when
that door closes on you, it is as if the earth of
the grave had closed over my eyes. We shall
meet no more. Go. Speak to no one; and