changed when she opened it and read the
name at the end. It was written by
Andrew, in a trembling straggling hand, as if
he had indeed been very ill; but written
with all the force and bitterness of his
nature — as if death had never been near
enough to teach him gentleness or reformation
It began by accusing her broadly of
having "forged that pretended codicil." It
made no kind of hesitation in the matter.
"For you know," it said, "how well you
can imitate my father's handwriting. I have
now in my possession letters — more than
one — written by you, which any one would
swear were more like his writing than
that trumpery codicil you have attempted
to palm off. I little thought, when I used
to laugh at your innocent forgeries, that
I should ever have to shudder at a forgery
so vile and guilty as this. However, to
spare you the inevitable ruin that must fall
on you, I make you an offer, though an
illegal one — compounding a felony — which
would, if known, bring me into almost as bad
a place as yourself. Yet, because you are my
sister, I will run the risk, and commit this
legal offence. I have some compassion still
left for you, base, treacherous, and false as
you have proved yourself to be. If, then,
you will quietly give up possession of
everything you hold now under your forged codicil,
and content yourself with the fifty pounds
a-year left you by the true will and which,
I must say, I think a very handsome
provision for you — I will let the matter drop,
and you shall never hear me allude to it
again. I will even give you an asylum in my
house, if you could bear to see the family you
had so wickedly tried to ruin. If you do not
accept this most generous offer on my part
(by which I shall lose the fifty pounds a-year
that would be mine on the detection of your
guilt) I will at once put the matter into the
hands of my friends, and you may defend
yourself as you can. Your concealment of
my father's illness — telling me only when he
was dead — your letters, written to me in
imitation of his handwriting, will condemn
you without a moment's hesitation, or the
hope of appeal. Beware ! and think well
before you refuse your only chance of
salvation. If you reject my offer, be
prepared to brave infamy and transportation ;
for you will find me inexorable. Take my
advice as your brother and friend — still your
friend, in spite of your evil conduct — and
give up possession quietly. You will find
that I am right. ANDREW TREVELYAN."

Magdalen sat stupified. She could not at
the first analyse her own feelings nor reason
out her position. It was as if she had been
suddenly branded with hot iron, the pain of
which suddenly took away thought and
power. But the numbness of that sudden
terror soon passed. A strong nature like
hers could not long remain prostrate beneath
any shock. Indeed, the fiercer the blow the
fiercer would be the resistance. Her brother
Andrew had not calculated well when he
thought she would be conquered by the mere
force of an accusation. Some of the nature
of the father had passed into her also, and
submission without a struggle was as impossible
to her as the bending of a strong rod of
iron by a child. But — what was she to do? for,
after all, there was much to be considered
beside her own temper. What was her position,
and how should she act for her own honour
and for the best in point of morals? She knew,
of course, that the codicil had been written by
her father's own hand; that it was his express
and deliberate will. She could not, therefore,
give up her right without transgressing that
will, which of itself — whether for her own
advantage or against it — was a thing she would
always hold sacred above everything else in
the world. It was her father's will that she was
resolute to maintain, more than her own
fortune. Then another, and this time a more
selfish, side of the question :— This fortune
enabled her to marry Paul. Without it she
knew that their marriage was hopeless; at
least, for many years to come. Unpractical
to the last degree, visionary, poetic,
generous, unreal, his love even for her would
never make him practical and rational; never
make him capable of earning a livelihood by
an art which he asserted lost all its divinity
so soon as it became venal. Had she then
the right, waiving all other principles, to
destroy the future of her betrothed by yielding
to the false assumption of her brother?
Was it not, on the contrary, her duty to take
thought of him, if none of herself ; and was
she not justified in maintaining for him what,
for very weariness, she might have been
driven into relinquishing for herself alone?
Again, a third consideration, and not a
trifling one. If she gave up her rights without
a struggle, would not the whole world say it
was because she knew herself to be guilty,
and was frightened at the thought of exposure?
And how would she feel, even though
innocent, when it was said of her that she
had violated the will, betrayed the trust, and
dishonoured the grave of the being she most
honoured! No! The girl's heart swelled
and her eye flashed. No! She would defend
herself, cost what it might. Innocent, she
would maintain her innocence; and, justified
in her inheritance, she would preserve it
against all assaults. Let who could deprive
her of it!

She crushed the letter in her hand with a
strong and passionate gesture, and then sat
down to write to her brother. The pen was
long in her hand before the tumult within her
subsided. When she did write her expressions
were emphatic but calm. She distinctly
refused to give up her rights: she denied
the charge of forgery in two words; not
deigning to discuss the charge; but she
expressed her determination to defend her
innocence to the last farthing of her estate,