had a signature to write; and, by the most
natural mistake in the world, he wrote
another gentleman's name instead of his own
—eh ? "

"It was to a bill," says Mr. Frank, looking
very crestfallen, instead of taking the joke.
"His principal creditor wouldn't wait till he
could raise the money, or the greater part of
it. But he was resolved, if he sold off everything,
to get the amount and repay—"

"Of course! " says I. " Drop that. The
forgery was discovered. When ? "

"Before even the first attempt was made
to negotiate the bill. He had done the
whole thing in the most absurdly and innocently
wrong way. The person whose name
he had used was a staunch friend of his, and
a relation of his wife's: a good man as well
as a rich one. He had influence with the
chief creditor, and he used it nobly. He had
a real affection for the unfortunate man's
wife, and he proved it generously."

"Come to the point," says I. " What did
he do? In a business way, what did he do?"

"He put the false bill into the fire, drew a
bill of his own to replace it, and then—only
then—told my dear girl and her mother all
that had happened. Can you imagine anything
nobler ? " asks Mr. Frank.

"Speaking in my professional capacity, I
can't imagine anything greener? " says I.
"Where was the father? Off, I suppose?"

"Ill in bed," said Mr. Frank, colouring.
"But, he mustered strength enough to write
a contrite and grateful letter the same day,
promising to prove himself worthy of the
noble moderation and forgiveness extended
to him, by selling off everything he possessed
to repay his money debt. He did sell off
everything, down to some old family pictures
that were heirlooms; down to the little plate
he had; down to the very tables and
chairs that furnished his drawing room.
Every farthing of the debt was paid;
and he was left to begin the world again, with
the kindest promises of help from the generous
man who had forgiven him. It was too late.
His crime of one rash moment—atoned for
though it had been—preyed upon his mind.
He became possessed with the idea that he
had lowered himself for ever in the estimation
of his wife and daughter, and—"

"He died," I cut in. " Yes, yes, we know
that. Let's go back for a minute to the
contrite and grateful letter that he wrote.
My experience in the law, Mr. Frank, has
convinced me that if everybody burnt everybody
else's letters, half the Courts of Justice
in this country might shut up shop. Do you
happen to know whether the letter we are
now speaking of contained anything like an
avowal or confession of the forgery?"

"Of course it did," says he. " Could the
writer express his contrition properly without
making some such confession ? "

"Quite easy, if he had been a lawyer,"
saye I. " But never mind that; " I'm going
to make a guess, —a desperate guess, mind.
Should I be altogether in error," says I,
" if I thought that this letter had been stolen;
and that the fingers of Mr. Davager, of suspicious
commercial celebrity, might possibly
be the fingers which took it? " says I.

"That is exactly what I tried to make you
understand," cried Mr. Frank.

"How did he communicate that interesting
fact to you ? "

"He has not ventured into my presence.
The scoundrel actually had the audacity—"

"Aha! " says I. " The young lady herself!
Sharp practitioner, Mr. Davager."

"Early this morning, when she was walking
alone in the shrubbery," Mr. Frank goes
on, " he had the assurance to approach her,
and to say that he had been watching his
opportunity of getting a private interview
for days past. He then showed her—actually
showed her—her unfortunate father's letter;
put into her hands another letter directed to
me; bowed, and walked off; leaving her half
dead with astonishment and terror!"

"It was much better for you that you
were not," says I. " Have you got that other
letter?"

He handed it to me. It was so extremely
humorous and short, that I remember every
word of it at this distance of time. It began
in this way:

"To Francis Gatliffe, Esq., Jun.—Sir,—I have an
extremely curious autograph letter to sell. The price
is a Five hundred pound note. The young lady to
whom you are to be married on Wednesday will
inform you of the nature of the letter, and the
genuineness of the autograph. If you refuse to deal,
I shall send a copy to the local paper, and shall wait
on your highly respected father with the original
curiosity, on the afternoon of Tuesday next. Having
come down here on family business, I have put up at
the family hotel—being to be heard of at the Gatliffe
Arms. Your very obedient servant,
" ALFRED DAVAGER."

"A clever fellow, that," says I, putting the
letter into my private drawer.

"Clever! " cries Mr. Frank, " he ought to
be horsewhipped within an inch of his life.
I would have done it myself, but she made
me promise, before she told me a word of the
matter, to come straight to you."

"That was one of the wisest promises you
ever made," says I. "We can't afford to
bully this fellow, whatever else we may do
with him. Don't think I am saying anything
libellous against your excellent father's
character when I assert that if he saw the
letter he would certainly insist on your marriage
being put off, at the very least?"

"Feeling as my father does about my marriage,
he would insist on its being dropped
altogether, if he saw this letter," says Mr.
Frank, with a groan. " But even that is not
the worst of it. The generous, noble girl
herself says, that if the letter appears in the
paper, with all the unanswerable comments