proved by a witness whose attendance Horace
had secured beforehand, the documents
enclosed were read. They were a copy of the
codicil in Mr. Trevelyan's hand-writing, the
correspondence between himself and the
insurance-offices, and this letter, addressed
to Mr. Slade, then at Wiesbaden:—

DEAR FRIEND,-- You know that I do not often
make confidants, nor lay on my friends the burden of
my sorrows. But you must be content to be the
exception to-day, and to receive both a charge and a
confession, in trust for your godchild's future benefit. The
correspondence I have enclosed will show you my
latest trouble about my son. You know, dear friend,
how often I have pardoned his excesses-- how many
times I have crippled my resources to pay his debts—
how I have always loved him, and how I have always
believed in him. My eyes are dim now to think of
the ruin in my heart which this discovery has made.
I could have forgiven anything but this; but this
heartlessness—calculating the chances of my life, and
making a per-centage out of my infirmities --
hastening my death by his wishes, and, not content
with the inheritance he knew I was to leave him,
gambling on the chance of my speedy decease— this
discovery has worked such a change in my feelings—
has opened my eyes to the boy's real character so fully,
and has made me so sensible, by contrast, of my daughter's
worth-- that I have to-day revoked my will, and left all
that I may die possessed of to Magdalen. A strange
presentiment makes me send you these papers. I do
not wish them to be found and commented on after
my death. I would rather that you kept them in safe
and secret custody until they are wanted—if ever they
may be wanted— to support the codicil I have executed
to-day.

Your godchild is quite well, and growing daily
handsomer. You know of her engagement to a
young artist who came into the neighbourhood about
two years ago? He is a worthy lad, but somewhat too
flighty for my taste; however, if she likes him that is
all that need be asked for. And as they will be
independent after my death, I have no further doubts as to
the prudence of the marriage. Keep my secret, dear
Slade, till after my death, and believe me always your
affectionate friend,

ANDREW TREVELYAN.

Although the document was proved to be
in old Mr. Trevelyan's handwriting, yet none
of the papers so suddenly produced were held
to be evidence. It was admitted that they
brought to the case strong corroborative
testimony of what had been urged in favour of
the prisoner's innocence. There was a sharp
and lengthy discussion on this point.

Fortunate that it was so; for the arguments
of counsel (continually interrupted by the
judges as being quite irregular, and only
tolerated by them in mercy to the prisoner)
had nearly terminated when a sunburnt,
unshorn old gentleman forced his way into
the court. The commotion he created attracted
Magdalen's attention. In struggling his way
to the counsel's table, the stranger turned to
look at the prisoner. She uttered a faint
cry, and exclaimed-- "Mr. Slade!"

It was he sure enough; and he was called
into the witness-box. His parole evidence
was perfectly conclusive, and this closed
the case. The counsel made a very
brief comment, the  judge summed up,
aud the jury without quitting their box
found the defendant " not guilty," amid the
loud and prolonged cheers of the court—
cheers which the judge himself did not
interfere to stop.

"How cleverly managed! How did you
get up that evidence, Rutherford ? " asked
Andrew's counsel, shaking him by the hand.
They were old friends.

"I found a memorandum in an old pocket-
book of Mr. Trevelyan's, 'wrote to Slade today,'
under the same date as the codicil; and
I thought I could get something out of that.
I found that Mr. Slade was Miss Trevelyan's
godfather, so that it all looked likely he
would have some information to give."

"By Jove, a good move," said Magdalen's
late champion; and then the two learned
brothers sauntered out of court together, to
the amazement of the vulgar, who
believed in legal histrionics. Mr. Slade took
Magdalen to his sister, who had been staying
with a friend to be near enough to receive
early news of the result of the trial. Paul and
Horace went together to Oakfield: Horace
joyous, full of the most boyish spirits, laughing,
leaping, and singing; the only reward
he asked, to see her the first, and be the first to
receive her thanks; Paul agitated, trembling,
and unnerved. At last she came, bringing
Miss and Mr. Slade with her as guests. As
she descended the carriage, Horace darted
through the gates, and, with almost one
bound, was beside her.

She took both his hands in hers—her face
eloquent with happiness and gratitude. " God
bless you! You are my preserver," she said;
and then, she added, in a tone that quivered
through every nerve-- in a low, deep, rich
tone, that sunk like music to his heart
—" I would rather owe my life to you than
to any one in the world; God bless you,
beloved friend, again, and again."

Paul had only enough strength left to fall
into her arms rather than to take her in his,
covering with a boy's passionate kisses the
cheek that had just been brushed by Horace's
raven hair. She could not bear this. Miss
Slade was manifestly shocked, and her
brother smiled wickedly; Margaret dashed
her lover's trembling hand away, standing in
a strange fit of passion and beauty, with
such an expression of pride, terror, and
love in her face, as haunted him for days
after. He gently asked, how he had offended
her? He knew he had given his evidence
ill; but would she not forgive him? It
was love for her, and pity and grief that
had unmanned him.

Magdalen looked up with one wild wide
glance to Horace— a look that transformed
her whole face— then turning to the darkened
part of the hall, she spoke gently to Paul,
and offered him her hand. He ran fondly
to take it, caressing it; when with a low