My name! Of course I was flattered. If I could have raised four or

five thousand dollars, I should have been glad to give the company the

benefit of my name!

“I should like to go in, but I have no capital,” I replied, with the

modesty of a man without means.

“Do as I did!” exclaimed Cormorin, in whom the champagne had now

banished every thing like caution.

“How did you do?”

“I used the bank funds!” he replied, hitting the table a tremendous

rap. “But I don’t mean that the bank shall ever lose a single cent by

me. I mean to be honest. I mean to pay every cent I borrow. I don’t see

why money should lie idle in my drawer in the bank, when I can make

something out of it, without wronging, cheating or defrauding man,

woman or child. Glasswood, give me your hand. I have spoken frankly to

you. If you betray me, of course I shall have to take the next steamer

for foreign parts, and I’m afraid the bank would then be the loser by

the operation.”

“I will never betray you,” I replied, clasping his offered hand.

“Thank you, Glasswood! You are a noble fellow. To-morrow those infernal

directors will examine into the condition of our bank. My cash is five

thousand short—just the sum I paid for the Ballyhacks. You understand

me?”

I had drank so much champagne that I not only understood, but

sympathized with him. He had done just what I had, though I was not

stupid enough to betray myself to him.

“I understand you, Cormorin,” I replied. “Go on and tell me what you

are driving at just as though I were your own brother.”

“Exactly so; just as though you were my own brother. I borrowed five

thousand dollars from the bank. It will be missed to-morrow. Lend me

five one thousand dollar bills, or the same amount in some other form,

for two hours to-morrow, and I shall be all right. You shall hold my

stock as collateral. It is worth double the amount; and I will do the

same thing for you when your cash is counted, if you want to make

something on your own account.”

“I’ll do it,” I replied, without a moment of reflection.

“You are a good fellow, Glasswood. Your fortune is made, and so is

mine.”

I should not have been so prompt in acceding to his request without the

aid of the champagne. Though I knew what I was about well enough, I was

reckless. I was fascinated with the idea of making five or ten thousand

dollars in “coppers,” and thus discharging my obligation to the bank.

“We don’t always know when our directors intend to make an

examination,” I suggested.

“I can always tell by the looks of them. No matter; there is time

enough after they begin. Our banks are near enough to each other to

enable us to make a connection,” laughed Cormorin.

We discussed the matter still further, but we were perfectly agreed. We

separated with an arrangement to meet in the forenoon of the next day,

to carry out the plan we had devised. I did not deem it prudent to go

directly home, and I spent an hour on the Common, waiting for the fumes

of the wine I had drank to work off. When I went to Needham Street, I

found that Lilian was still out, probably purchasing her new black silk

dress. She came at last, and we ate a dried-up dinner at five o’clock.

She had purchased her dress, and was in the best of spirits.

The next day, when I went to the bank, I quietly transferred six

thousand dollars from my drawer to my pocket, with hardly a tithe of

the compunction with which I had appropriated my first loan. O, I

intended to be honest! The bank was not to lose a penny by me. For five

thousand of the money, Cormorin was to give me collateral worth ten

thousand in the market. With the other thousand I intended to pay my

uncle, and silence his carping for all time.

Cormorin was punctual in his call for his share of the funds. He handed

me the certificates and I gave him the money. In the course of the

forenoon Captain Halliard, faithful to his threat, paid me a visit.

I was not ready for him then, but I showed him one-half of Cormorin’s

certificates. They did not abate his persistency for payment of the

note, and I promised to pay him at three o’clock in the afternoon,

without fail. As I had the money in my pocket, I could safely make the

promise.

At the appointed time he presented himself before me.

_CHAPTER XVII._

PROVIDING FOR THE WORST.

“THERE is your money, principal and interest,” said I to my uncle,

carelessly tossing him the bills. “You have compelled me to sacrifice

my coppers, but I am rid of you now.”

“Rid of me! It isn’t necessary for you to be impudent, Paley,” replied

the Captain.

“I assure you, it is a very great satisfaction for me to feel that

there is now no possible way in which you can annoy me.”

“I don’t want to annoy you.”

“I thought you did. You have been crowding me pretty hard. You have

compelled me to pay this note, for no other purpose than to annoy me.

You have done your worst, and I hope you are satisfied.”

“You may have the money again, if you want it,” said he; for, like

other bullies, when he felt that his power was gone, he was disposed to

make peace.

“I don’t want it now. I have sold out my stock at a loss to gratify

your malice. If you can do anything more to crush me, I hope you will

do it.”

“I don’t want to crush you. What are you talking about?” added my

uncle, impatiently.

“I don’t know what you mean by crowding me so hard, then.”

“Paley, you are living too fast. All I have done has been for your

good.”

“I don’t see it; and I don’t exactly know by what right you purpose

to take the management of my affairs into your own hands. You have

an offer for my house, and you have attempted to drive me out of it.

Let me say that I would go into bankruptcy, or into the State Prison,

before I would submit to any such dictation. I am of age and I think

I am able to take care of myself. I hear that Aunt Rachel is better

to-day, and is steadily improving. I shall take the first occasion to

tell her how you have used me.”

“Do you want to make trouble in the family?” asked he, evidently

startled by my threat; for the handling of the invalid’s property was

of some importance even to a gentleman of Captain Halliard’s wealth.

“I want justice done, though the heavens fall. Aunt Rachel never

intended that I should be driven up to pay this thousand dollars, as

you have done the business.”

“I did what I thought was best for you and for her.”

“All right; if you are satisfied, I am.”

I think my uncle was rather sorry he had crowded me so hard. He had

failed to accomplish his purpose of driving me out of my house, and he

knew that I had some influence with my aunt. He was disposed to back

out, but I was not willing that he should do so. I did not like the

idea of having him around me in the capacity of a guardian, prying into

my affairs, and listening to every breath of scandal that related to me.

The sharp words I had spoken produced some effect upon him. But it

occurred to me that his malice would be dangerous, and I did not

deem it prudent to provoke him any farther. He was intimate with Mr.

Bristlebach, and his influence might imperil my situation. It would

be utter ruin for me to be discharged before I had replaced the sums

I had “borrowed.” I moderated my wrath, therefore, and refrained from

enforcing my threat. My uncle left me, and I was willing to wait until

he made the next move.

I remained at the bank until half-past three o’clock, at which time I

had agreed to meet Cormorin, at Young’s. He was nearly half an hour

late, but he came, and I saw by his countenance that every thing

had gone well with him. I should say, in the light of subsequent

experience, that every thing had gone ill with him, for the successful

concealment of guilt, whatever consequences might follow its exposure,

is the greatest misfortune that can befall a man, inasmuch as it leads

him farther and deeper into crime.

“Five thousand; there are the identical bills you lent me,” said

Cormorin, as he laid the money upon the table before me. “I’m all right

now, and I hope I shall not have occasion to repeat this folly.”

“You will make enough by your operation in Ballyhacks to afford you a

sufficient capital for future operations.”

“That’s so. I shall be worth ten or fifteen thousand dollars next week,

as sure as I live. I am going to pay what I owe the bank, and then keep

square with the world. You have done me a good turn to-day, Glasswood,

and I am not one of the kind that forget such things.”

“Here are your certificates. I am glad to have been able to serve

you,” I replied, as I handed him the papers. “You said something about

another company in which a fellow might make a good thing.”

“I did—the Bustumup. Its stock’s going up just as that of the

Ballyhack did.”

“What can I have it for?”

“I am interested in this company, and if you take the stock at once you

shall have it for twenty, though it went at twenty-two to-day.”

“I will take two hundred and fifty shares of it.”

“You are sensible,” replied Cormorin. “You have the money in your fist,

and you can return it in a week or two, and put ten thousand dollars

into your pocket.”

I had not told Cormorin my secret, and I think he was anxious to have

me invest the five thousand dollars, I had taken from the bank, that we

might stand on an equal footing. He desired to possess as strong a hold

upon me as I had upon him. I was satisfied of the truth of what he had

told me in regard to his own “coppers.” I had inquired for myself, and

I realized that he was making ten if not fifteen thousand dollars by

his operation.

I felt compelled to take the step he suggested. I owed my bank three

thousand dollars, and while Aunt Rachel was so feeble, I had no hope of

obtaining the amount from her. I must do something to save myself from

possible exposure. The brilliant example of Cormorin loomed up before

me. If he had made a large sum in “coppers,” there was no reason why I

should not do the same. It was necessary that I should make the effort,

and I gave him the five thousand dollars he had just returned to me, to

be invested in Bustumups.

“It will be a safe operation, Glasswood,” continued Cormorin.

“Bustumups are sure to go up.”

I did not regard this last expression as one to be taken in the

metaphorical sense.

“You have looked into this matter, Cormorin, and of course you

understand it. As things now stand, you and I must hang together.”

“That’s so; count on me for anything you want.”

“Thank you. Now won’t you have a bottle of champagne with me?”

“I am much obliged to you, Glasswood, but I can’t stop any longer

now. I must get your stock for you before four, or it will cost you

twenty-five to-morrow.”

“You are confident that this is a safe thing for me—are you not?”

“Oh, perfectly confident!” exclaimed he. “If you don’t believe in it,

don’t do it.”

“I rely upon your statements, and go in upon the assurance of what you

say.”

“Of course you must run your own risk. I can only advise you to do what

I would do myself.”

“That’s enough.”

He left me to procure the certificates of stock in the Bustumup

Company. I was to wait in the private room I had taken until his

return. I was alone, and when I began to think what I was doing, I was

appalled at the possibility of failure. I was in debt to the bank in

the sum of eight thousand dollars. If my investment should go wrong

I could not hope to make good the loss. I should be obliged to flee

from my wife and my home, and end my days in exile, if I should be

so fortunate as to escape without detection. A cold sweat stood on

my forehead as I thought of the possibility of discovery, of being

arrested even before I supposed any one suspected me, and of being

condemned to the State Prison for ten years or more.

I rang the bell, and ordered a bottle of champagne. I drank several

glasses of it, and the fumes went to my brain. I felt better. My

thoughts began to flow in another direction under the influence of the

sparkling fluid. Bustumups would advance every day. In a week or two

they would go up to a hundred dollars a share. If they did this, I

should make twenty thousand dollars, besides having my capital returned

to me. I should be able to pay off the bank, and have seventeen

thousand dollars left. My dream of future success was colored with the

pinkiest tint of the wine I drank.

I intended to be cautious. If, after my stock had gone up to fifty,

there were any signs of a reaction, I would sell, and still make ten

thousand dollars. Cormorin was sure the stock would be twenty-five the

next day. If it was, I should clear twelve hundred and fifty dollars.

But if it only went up to thirty-five in a week, it would enable me to

pay off what I owed the bank, and I should be content even with that.

My new friend brought me the coveted shares, and helped me finish the

bottle of champagne before me. For some reason or other he declined

to punish a second one with me, and we separated. I went home with

my shares in my pocket. When the fumes of the champagne passed off, I

was uneasy again. I felt that I stood upon the brink of a precipice.

If Bustumups went down instead of going up, I was ruined. There was no

possible way for me to redeem myself.

Though my uncle knew I was dealing in stocks—or rather took my word

for it—and was plunging into a sea of speculation, he did not warn me

against it. He had not a word of caution to utter, and probably had no

suspicion that I might be tempted to meddle with the funds of the bank.

If he had been as solicitous as he pretended to be for my welfare, he

would have warned me of the perils of my course. For my own part, my

uncle was a mystery to me.

Lilian with the black silk in prospect, was as happy as a queen. In the

evening Tom Flynn called. He was hardly seated before Mrs. Oliphant

and Bertha made us a call. “Dear ma” appeared to be cured of her evil

propensity, probably because another daughter, through my indirect

agency, was in a fair way of being disposed of. We had sacred music,

and a lively time generally. I was quite satisfied that Tom would, at

no distant day, make my wife’s sister his bride. This prospect was

quite enough to appease Mrs. Oliphant, and she really looked quite

amiable under the indications of this happy event.

Tom escorted Bertha and her mother home at ten o’clock, and the next

day the noble fellow told me with a blush, that he did not leave the

house on Tremont Street till the clock struck twelve. A question or two

from me brought out the fact that they were engaged. I envied Tom—he

was so happy. Why should he not be? He owed the bank nothing. He had

not soiled his soul by taking what did not belong to him. He was a

strictly moral and religious young man. He would have gone without his

dinner rather than stay away from the evening prayer-meeting. I say I

envied him. I did; and I would have given all the world, had it been

mine to give, for his peace of mind.

I could not sleep that night when I went to bed. I got up and drank

nearly half a bottle of Smith’s old sherry, which stupefied my brain,

and gave me the needed rest from the goadings of conscience and the

terrors of the future. My fate depended upon the success of the

Bustumup Company. If that went down, I might be called at any time to

flee from my wife, and wander in fear and trembling as an exile in

some strange land. If I was in peril of exposure I could not remain to

face the blast of popular condemnation. My pride would not permit me to

live where any man could look down upon me with either pity or contempt.

At twelve o’clock, when I run out for a lunch, I found that Bustumups

were quoted at twenty-five. This fact assured me, for already I had

practically paid off more than one-third of my debt. The stock went a

little higher before two o’clock, and my courage was correspondingly

increased. I was rather disturbed, however, at the close of the bank,

to see my uncle in close conversation with Mr. Bristlebach. I fancied

that I was the subject of their remarks, especially as the president

cast frequent glances at me. Captain Halliard looked ugly.

I had shown him a portion of the certificates which Cormorin had lent

me. He was a shrewd business man, and though he had not objected to

the statement that I had saved half my salary, and invested it in

stocks, he might well have doubted the truth of it. Perhaps he had

been thinking over my affairs, and had come to the conclusion that my

assertions were doubtful. On two occasions he had driven me up to the

payment of money, and both times I had met the demand.

Cormorin told me that he always ascertained when the directors intended

to make an examination. Captain Halliard meant mischief. He intended,

at least, to put me in condition to let Aunt Rachel alone. I am

confident he did not really believe that I had borrowed any thing of

the bank; but probably he wanted to satisfy himself that I did not

obtain my ready money from the drawer. As the conversation continued

I became alarmed. The President almost invariably left the bank soon

after two o’clock. To-day he remained. As he had done once before since

I occupied my position, he might examine the condition of the cash

department.

I meant to be on the sure side. I ran into the bank where Cormorin was,

and told him what I suspected. He promptly offered to help me out, on

the same terms that I had performed a similar service for him.

“I want eight thousand,” I whispered. “I will return it to-morrow

morning.”

“Eight thousand!” exclaimed he. “Why, you are only five thousand

short.”

“Eight,” I replied, firmly.

“How’s that?”

“I was three thousand short when I made the little arrangement.”

“Thunder!” ejaculated he, impatiently. “Then you are the eagle and I am

the lamb.”

“We are both honest fellows, and mean to pay all we owe,” I replied.

“Do you suppose I would have accommodated you, the other day, if I had

not been in hot water myself? Of course if I go down, you go with me.”

“But the security?” he asked.

“Two hundred and fifty shares of Bustumups.”

“They are worth only six thousand or so.”

“But will be worth more than eight in a few days; you shall have your

bills back to-morrow morning, without fail.”

I gave him my certificates and he handed me the money; but he gnashed

his teeth as he did so. If I fell, I should drag him down with me.

“Is everything right in your drawer?” asked Heavyside, the cashier,

slyly, of me, when I returned.

“Certainly it is,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Bristlebach is going to look over our accounts and cash this

afternoon.”

“All right,” I answered, carelessly.

I deposited the eight thousand in my drawer, balanced my cash, and put

the trunk into the safe. Paying no attention to any one, and especially

not to my uncle, I sauntered leisurely out of the bank.

_CHAPTER XVIII._

BUSTUMUPS AT FIFTY.

BY the ruse in which Cormorin had instructed me, and for which he had

furnished the funds, I had provided against any exposure. By this time

I was fully satisfied that my uncle was working against me; not that he

intended to ruin me, but only to maintain his own power and influence

over me. There are men of this stamp in the world, who will punish

their best friends when they refuse to be guided by them. Captain

Halliard was as jealous of his influence as he was of his money.

As my account with the bank was now square, I had no fear of the

investigation which was in progress. Mr. Heavyside, who had never been

suspected of even an irregularity, had been so kind as to inform me of

the proposed examination. I had in him a good friend, and a mortgage on

his future fidelity to me. I should defeat my uncle this time, as I had

before, but it was annoying to be subjected to his espionage, though I

could not afford to have a serious quarrel with him.

I went home at about the usual hour. My Bustumups had done so well

that I was tolerably light-hearted. Lilian was as joyous as a dream

in June. Bertha had been with her all the forenoon, and I heard much

in praise of Tom Flynn. We dined, and then I proposed to Lilian that

we should ride out into the country. She was glad to go, and we went.

On my return home at six o’clock, Biddy handed me a note from Mr.

Bristlebach. I recognized his heavy hand-writing, and my blood ceased

to flow in its channels. I tore open the envelope. It was simply a

request to appear at the bank immediately.

What could it mean? My cash was all right. They could not have

discovered the truth. That was simply impossible. If there was any

trouble at the present time, Cormorin, and not myself, would be the

sufferer. If there had been a discovery of the whole truth, Mr.

Bristlebach was not the man to have sent a note to me; he would have

sent a constable. I decided to go at once to the bank, for I was

satisfied, from the manner in which the message had come, and by the

assurance that my cash was all right, that nothing very serious could

be charged upon me. I told Lilian I was going down town for an hour,

and she did not bother me with any troublesome questions.

On my arrival at the bank I found the president and my uncle in the

directors’ room. Both of them looked severe, but Captain Halliard did

not seem to be so much at his ease as usual. I knew him well enough to

be able to read his thoughts, and whatever mischief was brewing he was

at the bottom of it.

“Mr. Glasswood, of course you are aware that There is a deficiency in

your account?” said Mr. Bristlebach.

“No, sir, I am not aware of it,” I replied; and as I spoke the literal

truth, I answered with confidence.

“You are not?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you balance your cash to-day?”

“I did, sir; and at half-past two it was all right.”

“You put a bold face on the matter.”

“Certainly I do, sir. I am innocent of the charge, and I can afford to

speak the truth.”

“Nevertheless, your cash is short.”

“It was not short at half-past two to-day,” I replied, glancing at my

uncle.

He was uneasy, and did not confront me when I gazed at him.

“It is not a large deficiency,” added Mr. Bristlebach, “but large

enough to demand inquiry.”

“May I ask how much you found it short,” I inquired.

“Only three hundred dollars.”

“There may be some mistake—I hope there is,” suggested my uncle.

“Who counted the cash?” I asked.

“We counted it together,” replied the president. “I wish to add that I

do not regard you as a defaulter or any thing of that sort. I sent for

you to enable you to explain the matter.”

“I have no further explanation to make. I left my cash all right

to-day,” I added, confidently.

“He is so sure, that I rather think some mistake has been made,” added

Captain Halliard.

“Probably there has been. Mr. Glasswood, I have had the utmost

confidence in you. When I suspected you before, a second examination

convinced me of your integrity. I have no doubt it will be so this

time.”

“I cannot undertake to keep my cash right, if other persons are allowed

to go to my drawer,” I continued, rather savagely.

“What!” exclaimed my uncle, springing to his feet.

“I said what I meant to say,” I replied.

The remark hit just where I intended it should. Mr. Bristlebach and

my uncle had been counting my cash. I had left it all right. If the

deficiency was insignificant, it was still enough to ruin me. I had

already made up my mind how my cash happened to be short. If the

president had made the examination himself there would have been no

deficiency. Of course I mean to say that Captain Halliard himself had

been the author of the mischief. In other words, he had either taken

three hundred dollars from my cash, or had falsely reported his count.

Before I ventured to make this violent statement, I put my uncle fairly

on trial, and called up all the circumstances of our present relations

to testify against him. He was determined to maintain his influence

over me, and to prevent me from saying any thing to Aunt Rachel about

him. I had refused to give up my house at his bidding, and prevented

him from obliging his friend, Mr. Brentbone. I had roundly reproached

him for his conduct to me, and used language which he could not

tolerate in any one. I was satisfied that he had a strong motive for

desiring to obtain a hold upon me.

A strong motive, however, is not sufficient to explain so dastardly

an act as that in which I had dared to implicate my uncle. A man of

integrity, simply an honest man, would not be guilty of so vile a deed.

Was my uncle capable of such an act? He had procured my situation for

me by bringing up a charge against Tom Flynn which both he and I knew

was false—one which he himself had disproved as soon as his purpose

was accomplished. If he would do one mean thing, he would not halt at

another.

He had compelled me to pay the thousand dollars I owed Aunt Rachel,

out of sheer malice, and only to put me in a position where he could

control me. The mild speech of the president of the bank assured me

that I was not to be harshly dealt with; and my uncle gently suggested

that there might be a mistake.

“Be careful what you say, Mr. Glasswood,” said the president. “Now

I’m going out to get a cup of tea; when I come back we will ascertain

whether there is a mistake or not.”

Mr. Bristlebach left the room. My uncle looked embarrassed, thrust his

fingers into his vest pockets, and seemed to be feeling for something.

I was tempted to spring upon him, and throw out the contents of those

pockets, for I was satisfied that the deficiency in my cash could be

accounted for only in that way.

“Paley, you have been speculating in coppers,” said he.

“I have; but that is my business,” I replied, roughly.

“I propose to pay the bank the amount your cash is short, and to hush

the matter up where it is.”

“I don’t ask you to do any thing of the sort.”

“I am on your bond, and I must do it. No matter about that. I expected,

after you told me what you were doing in coppers, to find a deficit of

thousands. I was prepared to pay even that, for you are of my own flesh

and blood.”

“You are very affectionate!”

“I have succeeded in quieting Mr. Bristlebach.”

“I see you have.”

“You talk to me as though I had done you an injury instead of a

kindness,” added he, reproachfully.

“That is what you have done.”

“Your cash is three hundred short,” said he, putting his hands into his

vest pockets again.

Perhaps I was insane under the pressure of his implied charge; at any

rate, under the impulse of the moment, without consciously determining

to do it, I sprung upon him like a tiger; and having no warning of

my purpose myself, I gave him none. I thrust my hands into his vest

pockets, and drew from them whatever they contained. I retreated into

the farther corner of the room to examine my capture. The deed was done

so quick that Captain Halliard had no time to resist, though he seized

me by the shoulders. I was furious, and shook him off like a child.

“What do you mean, you villain?” gasped he.

I paid no attention to him, but proceeded to examine my prize. Among

other things I found three bills, of one hundred dollars each.

“Do you mean to rob me, Paley?” demanded he; but, like Hamlet’s ghost,

he appeared to be “more in sorrow than in anger;” and more in fear than

in sorrow.

“Do you carry your money in your vest pockets, sir?” I demanded.

“Sometimes I do.”

“You took these bills from my trunk when you counted my cash.”

“Nonsense, Paley!”

“I can swear to one of them, at least,” I replied, holding up one of

the bills, on the face of which some clown had written a sentence about

depreciated currency, that had attracted my attention. “I left this

bill in my trunk in the vault at half-past two to-day; at half-past six

I find it in your pocket.”

“Do you think—”

“I know!” I interrupted, him, in the most savage manner. “If I can find

a policeman, I will put you on the track to the State Prison.”

“Don’t be absurd, Paley,” interposed my uncle; but I saw that there

was no heart in the remark. “There must have been a mistake in the

counting.”

“You stole this money from my trunk to get me into trouble.”

“Didn’t I tell the president that I would pay the deficit?” asked my

uncle. “Hush up! There comes Mr. Bristlebach! Not a word of this to

him.”

“You confess, then, that you took this money from my trunk?”

“By-and-by we will talk about it,” he replied, with much agitation.

I had proved my case. My uncle was a villain. He had taken three

hundred dollars from my cash—not enough to make me look like a

defaulter—for the purpose of maintaining his influence over me, and to

keep me from telling bad stories about him to Aunt Rachel. Guilty as I

was, I made myself believe that I was an innocent man, because I was

not guilty in the direction he accused me. Mr. Bristlebach returned to

the room.

“I am satisfied, from what Mr. Glasswood says, that there must have

been a mistake in our count,” said my uncle. “As I told you, I was

confident my nephew was honest, but I was fearful, when I learned that

he had been speculating in coppers. I thought, as I was on his bond, we

had better look into the matter. I am perfectly satisfied now.”

This very consistent statement was assented to by the president, but

my cash was counted again, at the request of Captain Halliard. I was

in doubt whether to restore the three hundred I had wrested from the

conspirator, but I concluded that I could not afford to expose him. We

counted the cash, which was mostly in large bills, and of course I was

fully vindicated. The president was profuse in his apologies, and my

uncle was kind enough to take the burden of the blunder on himself. He

could even see where he had made the mistake. I left the bank with him,

and we walked up the street together.

“That was an awkward mistake of mine,” said he.

“Very,” I replied, with a sneer.

“But I think I can explain it.”

“I don’t think you can.”

“You seem to have taken it into your head that I mean to injure you.”

“I have.”

“You are mistaken. I am on your bond. Money is so plenty with you, that

I was afraid I might be called upon to pay the bond. Bristlebach is

so intimate with me that I could satisfy myself without doing you any

harm. That was all I intended.”

“And that’s the reason why you took three hundred dollars out of my

trunk, I suppose?”

“Mr. Bristlebach handed me that money himself. I wanted to pay out that

amount to-night, and I drew a check for it. I entirely forgot it when

we counted the cash, and that was the deficit. Here is the check; as

you put the money back, I took the check from your drawer. That’s the

whole story.”

“Why didn’t you explain it to Mr. Bristlebach, then?” I asked,

believing not a word he said.

“Because it was so stupid of me to forget that the check had been paid

out of your cash.”

“Very stupid, indeed!”

“I will tell him about it to-morrow,” added my uncle.

As I have said before, a man in my situation could not afford to

quarrel with one so powerful as Captain Halliard. I kept my own

counsel, not wholly certain that he would not yet be called upon to pay

the amount of his bond on my account. We parted in peace, and I was

abundantly pleased that I had been able to fight off the charge.

The next morning, when I went to the bank, I took the eight thousand

from the cash, which Cormorin had lent me, and returned it to him. He

was a happy man then. I doubt whether he slept a wink the night before,

for the idea of being responsible for my deficit, as well as his own,

could not have been very comforting to him.

I was all right at the bank, and my uncle treated me with

“distinguished consideration.” On several occasions he assured me he

should use his influence in my favor with Aunt Rachel. If I wished for

the money he had compelled me to pay—solely for my own good—he would

let me have it again. Indeed, if I was short at any time, he would lend

me a thousand dollars. I thought I might have occasion to avail myself

of his offer, and I was pleasant and pliable. I said nothing more about

the three hundred dollars.

For a week all was well with me. Ballyhacks went up to seventy-five;

but Bustumups were slower, and had only touched forty in the same time.

This figure satisfied me, inasmuch as it enabled me to pay my debt at

the bank. Yet I believed, with the utmost confidence, that there was

five or ten thousand more in the stock for me, and as long as things

were easy at the bank, I did not think of realizing.

Then I was sick for ten days, and was obliged to stay in the house,

but even while my brain was on fire with fever I went down town one

day. I dared not leave my deficit to be discovered by my substitute.

I compelled poor Cormorin to lend me the eight thousand again, on the

security of my Bustumups. They were worth nearly this sum in the

market by this time, and he did not object very strenuously.

As soon as I was able to get out, I hastened back to the bank, and

took my place at the counter. Cormorin had sold his stock at eighty.

Bustumups were quoted at fifty, with a prospect of a further advance.

My friend had made thirteen thousand dollars. When I had made him

whole, he instantly resigned his place, fearful, I think, of getting

into trouble through my agency. He went to New York, to go into

business there. I did not care. My stocks at fifty paid my debt, and

left me forty-five hundred surplus. I was excited over the prospect. I

should be a rich man in a few weeks.

But everything did not turn out just as I anticipated.

_CHAPTER XIX._

A CRASH IN COPPERS.

I WAS worth forty-five hundred dollars while Bustumups were quoted at

fifty. Every day, while they hung at about this figure, I debated with

myself the policy of selling, paying my debt, and investing my surplus

in some other concern. Perhaps I should have done so, if I had known of

a company in which I could place entire confidence. I missed Cormorin

very much, for I needed his advice; and I had come to regard him as an

oracle in the matter of coppers.

It looked like madness to sacrifice a stock which might go up to eighty

or a hundred, as the Ballyhack had, and though my debt worried me, I

could not make up my mind to let it go. If I could put ten thousand

dollars in my pocket, my fortune would be made, for with this sum

I could operate on a large scale. There was no danger of another

examination of my cash at present, and I was secure. But Bustumups did

not advance as rapidly as I wished. They hung at about fifty. I was

told that parties were investigating the condition of the mine, and

that as soon as they reported, the stock would go up as rapidly as

Ballyhack had done. I was willing to wait patiently for a week or two,

while the stock about held its own. Its trifling fluctuations up and

down troubled me, but the parties who worked it convinced me that these

were only accidental changes.

Though I saw my uncle every day, he did not allude to his own villainy,

and I was prudent enough to wait until I was out of the woods before

I did so. In the course of a couple of weeks, when I had made my ten

thousand dollars, I intended to resign my position, and then I could

afford to express my mind very freely to Captain Halliard. With ten

thousand dollars in my exchequer, I could go into any business that

suited me, and make money enough to support me in a style becoming my

abilities.

I still had strong hopes that the fortune of Aunt Rachel would be mine.

She was now apparently rapidly regaining her health, and I determined

to improve my chances as soon as I could. On the following Saturday

afternoon I took Lilian down to Springhaven with me, and we both used

our best efforts to win her regard. I took her out to ride, I read to

her, and the old lady seemed as fond of me as when I was a boy. I was

her only nephew, and it had been often reported that I was to be her

heir, though on what authority I did not know. I invited her to spend

a week or a month at my house in Boston, and she promised to do so as

soon as she was able.

A rumor that the parties who were investigating the condition of the

mine intended to make a favorable report sent Bustumups to fifty-five,

and I was very happy. I was worth nearly six thousand dollars. At the

end of another week the stock went up to sixty, and the balance of

worldly wealth in my favor was seven thousand dollars. The game was

becoming intensely exciting. Another week or so would realize all my

hopes. I should be free and safe.

While every thing was in this cheerful condition Aunt Rachel sent for

me, and I hastened to Springhaven, for I could not afford to neglect

her summons. She was ready to go home with me, and she accompanied me

to my house in Needham street. The old lady was a little surprised to

find that I lived in elegant style, as she was pleased to express it;

but then she regarded the salary I received, which was double what her

minister had, as princely in itself. Simple as were her views of social

economy, she did not accuse me of extravagance. Lilian understood the

matter perfectly, and was all tenderness and devotion.

One morning, after she had been at our house three days, Aunt Rachel

asked me if I knew a certain Squire Townsend, a lawyer, whom the old

lady had been acquainted with in the early years of her life. I had

heard of him. He was an attorney of the old school, and I hoped she

intended to make her will while she was thus kindly disposed towards

me. She begged me to see the old gentleman, and ask him to call upon

her during the forenoon.

“Do you see much of Captain Halliard, Paley?” asked my aunt, as I was

going out.

“I see him nearly every day.”

“I wonder he has not been up to see me yet,” added the old lady.

I did not wonder. I had not taken the trouble to tell him that Aunt

Rachel was at my house.

“Do you wish to see him?” I asked.

“Not particularly. He has done considerable business for me.”

“I know it. He did some for you while you were sick.”

“Did he?”

“He made me pay the thousand dollars I borrowed of you.”

“What, Captain Halliard!” exclaimed the old lady.

“He did.”

“Why, I didn’t tell him to do that.”

“I know you didn’t, but he showed me a power of attorney from you, and

I couldn’t have helped myself if I had wished to do so; but I paid it,

and it’s of no consequence now.”

“I didn’t mean you should pay that money. I shouldn’t have cried if you

had never paid it. I’ll talk with Squire Townsend about it. Couldn’t

you take care of my property for me just as well as your uncle?”

“Well, I suppose I could,” I replied, rather indifferently.

“I never liked your uncle very well. He is too sharp for me. I’ll see

what can be done.”

“I wouldn’t say anything about meddling with Captain Halliard, at

present,” I suggested, for I was somewhat afraid of him myself.

“I’ll see about it; but I didn’t mean he should trouble you about that

money. He’d no business to do it, and I shall tell him so when I see

him.”

I did not intend she should see him at present. I went to the office

of Squire Townsend, on my way down town, and left a message for him

to call upon my aunt. I was fully persuaded in my own mind that she

intended to make a will, and that she had come up to Boston in order to

have the instrument drawn up by her old friend. Every thing looked rosy

to me, for the old lady would certainly leave me the larger portion, if

not the whole, of her worldly wealth.

When I went home in the afternoon I learned that Squire Townsend had

spent a couple of hours with Aunt Rachel, but Lilian had not heard a

word that passed between them. Then the squire had called a carriage,

and they had gone off together. I was not very anxious to know where

they had gone, though I concluded that it was only to the office of

her old friend for the purpose of having the will properly signed and

witnessed. Now, as always before, Aunt Rachel kept her own counsel. She

never told how much she was worth, or what she intended to do with her

property. She was true to her antecedents, and during the remainder of

her stay she never mentioned the nature of her business with Squire

Townsend, as she invariably called him. She said a good deal about the

worthy lawyer’s history, and told stories about him at school. She was

glad to meet him once more before she left the world, but she did not

hint that she had special business with him.

The old lady staid her week out, and then said she must go home. She

did not think the city agreed with her. She did not sleep as well

nights as at Springhaven. Both Lilian and I pressed her to remain

longer, and promised to do every thing we could to make her happy, but

she was resolute, and I attended her home, a week to a day from the

time she arrived.

I never saw her again.

During the week that Aunt Rachel was with me, Bustumups began to look a

little shaky. From sixty the stock went down to fifty-five in one day,

but it immediately rallied, and those who managed it assured me it was

only because money was a little tight, and a considerable portion of

the stock had been forced upon the market. I proposed to sell, as I had

promised myself that I would on the first appearance of a decline.

“Don’t do it,” said the operator. “Wait three days, and you can take

sixty, if not sixty-five, for your stock. If you crowd it upon the

market at once, you will drive it down, and cheat yourself out of

twelve hundred dollars.”

But it looks shaky,” I pleaded.

“The best stocks on the street go up and down by turns. Wait till day

after to-morrow, at least.”

I did wait, because I did not like to have twenty-five hundred dollars

taken out of my pocket at one swoop. Two days after, I was in a fever

of anxiety about my Bustumups. They had gone up and down under the

influence of various rumors, good and bad, and no one could foresee the

end. At noon Tom Flynn went out for his lunch.

“The coppers are in a bad way,” said he, taking his place at the

counter on his return.

“What is the matter with them?” I inquired, with my heart in my throat,

for my very reputation rested upon the prosperity of the coppers.

“Ballyhacks have dropped down from eighty to fifty,” added Tom.

“What?” I exclaimed.

“That’s what they say. Did you own any?”

“No, no; no Ballyhacks,” I replied, struggling to conceal my emotion.

I had not told Tom I was speculating in coppers, and I think he knew

nothing about it, though he might have heard something of the kind.

“Did you own any coppers?” he inquired, with a tone and look that

indicated the sympathy he felt for me.

“None of any consequence,” I replied.

I dared not talk with him about the matter lest I should expose my

emotion. With the stunning intelligence he had communicated to me on

my mind, it was simply impossible for me to discharge my duties in the

bank. I could hardly tell a hundred-dollar bill from a thousand. I told

the cashier that I was sick, and was fearful that I should faint again

if I did not get out in the air. He took my place, and I staggered out

into the street. There were people on the sidewalk, but I could not

see them. Every thing seemed to be without form or shape. I was in a

fearful agony of mind, and dreaded lest I should drop senseless upon

the pavement.

I went into a saloon and drank a glass of brandy. I sat down at one

of the little tables to gather up my shattered senses. Ruin stared

me in the face. If Ballyhacks had fallen from eighty to fifty, what

hope could there be for Bustumups? After all, the mischief might be

confined to this particular stock, and mine might be still on the top

of the wave. The brandy I had drank seemed to have no effect upon

me. I took another glass, and my courage began to rise a little. The

saloon was nearly filled with people, and there was a confused jabber

of tongues all around me. Men spoke to me, and called me by name. I

replied mechanically, but I could not have told a minute later who had

spoken to me.

“But they are a fraud,” said a gentleman, seating himself at the table

next to mine.

“Certainly they are,” replied the other. “The Ballyhack mine has

produced some copper; but they say there is not a particle of metal on

the Bustumup track—not an ounce! The managers of this affair ought to

be indicted and sent to the State Prison.”

“Merciful Heavens!” I ejaculated to myself, “I am ruined!”

“Ballyhack has gone down to forty within half an hour,” added one of

the gentlemen.

“I heard a man offer Bustumups just now for twenty, and people laughed

at him,” added the other. “I don’t believe they will bring ten.”

“Probably not. There is not a dollar of value in them. The thing is an

unmitigated swindle.”

The whole of the savage truth was poured into my ears. A moment later,

I heard some one say that the managers of the Bustumup Company had

found it convenient to disappear. I was almost a maniac. I cursed my

folly because I had not sold my stock when it began to look shaky. The

villains who had comforted me and made promises that I should sell at

sixty were simply designing knaves, who had fraudulently worked this

stock up to sixty, while there was not a penny of real value in it.

The first shock bore heavily upon me, but I soon recovered in some

measure from its effect. I went into the street, and inquired for

myself, in regard to the coppers. There were two or three substantial

companies which were actually producing metal and paying handsome

dividends. The other companies were swindles; and Bustumup was the most

egregious humbug of the whole. I tried to get an offer for my stock,

and found it would not bring a dollar a share. Indeed, it could not be

sold at any price. In a word, the five thousand dollars I had borrowed

from the bank was a total loss.

I will not attempt to describe the misery into which I was so suddenly

plunged. If I had sold my stock a week before, I might have paid my

debt and had five thousand dollars left. Now I was a defaulter in the

sum of eight thousand dollars. It was horrible to think of. There was

no possible way, that I could see, to escape the consequences. What

should I do?

I went back to the bank and told Mr. Heavyside that I was better. I

resumed my place at the counter, and did my work till the bank closed,

sustained by the brandy I had drank. I tried to devise some plan by

which I could conceal my deficit for a time. I could think of nothing

satisfactory. An examination of the affairs of the bank was sure to

betray me. I was tempted to commit suicide, as others have done under

the same pressure of guilt.

I thought of my wife, and my eyes filled with tears, as I pictured the

fall to which she would be subjected. It was ruin to her as well as to

me. What would she do, while I was thinking of her in my narrow cell

in the State Prison? The thought was madness to me. I swore that this

should never be. She should not be the widow of a living man, who could

not support her, who could give her nothing but a legacy of disgrace.

My pride rebelled as I thought of being confined in the prisoners’

dock, with all my former friends and enemies staring at me. I thought

of facing my uncle after he had been called upon to pay the bond;

of meeting Buckleton, Shaytop, and others to whom I had talked so

magnificently. I could not survive the crash. I could not live in

dread of the calamity that impended. While I was thinking what to do,

my uncle came into the bank. He was a cold-blooded wretch, but he was

afraid of me.

He began to talk of coppers, as, of course, I expected he would.

_CHAPTER XX._

THE LAST STEP.

“I HOPE you are not in very deep, Paley,” said Captain Halliard, after

he had stated the question in regard to the copper stocks.

“Not very, but I am bitten somewhat,” I replied, trying to look

cheerful, for I could not think of exhibiting to the enemy the state of

my affairs. “Did you own any coppers, uncle?”

“No; not a copper. I had some, but I got rid of them,” replied the wily

man of the world, rubbing his hands to indicate that he was too shrewd

to be involved in any speculation that could possibly miscarry.

“You are fortunate.”

“Speculation is just as much a trade as any other branch of human

industry. It requires brains, forethought, coolness. Novices should be

cautious how they venture beyond their depth, for they are almost sure

to be bitten. I am sorry you have been trapped, Paley.”

“I’m not badly hurt, though of course the small loss I have

experienced must make some difference in my future arrangements. And,

by the way, I should like to avail myself of your kind offer.”

“What was that?” he asked, rather blankly.

“You offered to lend me money if I was short.”

“Just so.”

“I want a thousand dollars.”

“Of course you mean of your aunt’s money?”

“It won’t make much difference to me whose money it is, if I only get

it.”

“You shall have the thousand you paid me on her account.”

“Very well, sir.”

He gave me his check for the amount, and I wrote a note for it, payable

to my aunt. The captain wished to ascertain how much I had lost by the

copper explosion, but I evaded a definite answer, and intimated that

I was bitten to the extent of only a few hundred dollars. I had now a

thousand dollars in my pocket, besides about a hundred in my possession

before. I felt a little easier, though the terrible pressure of my load

still rested heavily upon me. I am not disposed to moralize in this

place upon the guilt of my conduct, for really the guilt at that time

did not trouble me half so much as the fear of detection.

I owed the bank eight thousand dollars. I had “tinkered” the books so

as to account for the deficiency, but the record would not bear a very

close examination. The fact that I was mixed up in these miserable

copper stock speculations was quite enough to excite suspicion, for I

could not hope that the fact was unknown to the directors, as long as

my uncle knew it. I felt as though I was living on a powder magazine

which might explode at any instant. The slightest accident might reveal

the whole truth to Mr. Bristlebach.

If I should happen to be sick a day, so that I could not go to the

bank, my false entries might be detected. Even while I was in the daily

discharge of my duties, the president or the cashier might be tempted

to examine my accounts. On the other hand, I might go a year or more

without discovery, though the chances were apparently all against me.

If I ran the risk of the future, I should live in constant terror of

an explosion. The death of Aunt Rachel, I confidently believed, would

enable me to pay off my debt; and the question was whether or not I

should take the chances of detection until the possession of her money

enabled me to set myself right with the bank.

My aunt’s health was so much improved that I could not reasonably

expect to have her money for some time. In a week, a month, a year—but

be it sooner or later, it was sure to come—my deficit would be

exposed. It might be discovered while I was at home, or at least before

I had any suspicion that I was in peril. I should have no time to

provide for my own safety. I was liable to be arrested in my own house,

without any warning, and then nothing could save me from a term in the

State Prison.

The cold sweat dropped from my brow as I thought of this fearful

contingency. I should not have a moment for preparation; an opportunity

to take the first train departing from the city; or even to hide

myself in the dark places of the city. Cold irons on my wrists, a

gloomy dungeon for, my resting-place, with the loathing and contempt

of my fellow-men, were all that would be left to me then. Lilian,

whom I loved with all my soul, would be reduced to despair. My savage

mother-in-law would not cease to reproach her, as long as my wife was a

burden in the maternal home.

I could not face the emergency. I was determined to place myself

beyond the possibility of such an awful crash. I was resolved that

Lilian, whatever she might think of me, should never be compelled to

look in upon her husband through the bars of a prison cell. Before

the discovery of the deficit, I could make such arrangements as I

pleased. Afterwards, I could do nothing. It seemed to me then that I

had not a day or an hour to spare. I had decided to save myself from

the consequences of one tremendous error, by plunging into another. Of

course I could not flee from Boston with only a thousand dollars in

my pocket. I am surprised now when I consider how easy it was for me

to think of taking from the bank no less a sum than thirty thousand

dollars. I did not now flatter myself that I intended only to borrow

the money, though it did occur to me that Aunt Rachel’s fortune would

in part pay my debt. Before I left the bank that day, I put in my

pocket ten thousand dollars, so that if my errors were immediately

discovered, I should not be wholly unprovided for.

I went to a broker where I was not known, and bought a thousand pounds

in gold, which I carried home in a small valise I purchased for

future use. I concealed the gold in my chamber ready for the final

move when I should be required to make it. I was intensely excited

by the resolution I had taken, and my thoughts seemed to move with

tremendous rapidity. I had decided upon the precise plan I intended to

follow; but of course it was necessary for me to move with the utmost

circumspection.

I had only a day to spare, for we must leave Boston the next evening.

I must prepare Lilian for a great change in her future. I must lay my

plans so as not to excite a breath of suspicion in any one, especially

at the bank. I had hardly twenty-four hours left to complete my

arrangements. I composed myself as well as I could, and went down to

dinner. Lilian was as cheerful as she always was when I came into the

house, and it almost started the tears in my eyes when I thought what

she would be if the world knew the whole truth in regard to my affairs.

“Lilian, I have been unfortunate to-day,” I began, as a suitable

introduction to the plan I had to propose.

“Unfortunate! Dear me! What has happened?” she asked, dropping her

pretty chin and her knife and fork at the same time.

“I have lost a good deal of money.”

“Lost a good deal of money?”

“Yes, a large amount.”

“Why, Paley!”

“Don’t look so sad, Lilian. It won’t kill me; and while I have you, I

need not complain.”

“But how did you lose it, Paley?”

“By the fall of stocks.”

I showed her one of the evening papers, in which the bursting of the

copper bubble was fully detailed. She looked at the article, but she

could not understand it, and I explained the matter to her.

“You haven’t lost all—have you, Paley?”

“No, not all, my dear. But I have something else to tell you. How would

you like to live in Paris for a year or two?”

“In Paris!” exclaimed she, her face lighting up with pleasure.

“In Paris, Lilian; and perhaps we may go to other parts of Europe.”

“O, I should like it above all things! I have always thought if I could

ever go to Europe, I should be the happiest woman in the world. But

what do you mean, Paley? You surely do not intend to go to Paris?”

“I am thinking of it.”

“Are you, really?” she continued, opening her bright eyes so wide that

her whole soul seemed to shine out through them.

“I am, truly; but I was thinking you would not be able to go so soon as

I should be obliged to leave.”

“O, I would go to-night, if I could only go!” she replied, with

enthusiasm.

“I have an offer, or a partial offer, from a concern in New York to act

as its financial agent in Paris.”

“Accept it, Paley—do accept it. I shall be so happy if I can only go

to Paris!”

“I don’t know certainly that I can have the position, but I am pretty

confident that I can.”

“Don’t refuse it, Paley. As you love me, don’t!”

“But there are a great many difficulties in the way,” I suggested.

“O, never mind the difficulties!”

“But we must mind them.”

“Well, what are they?”

“In the first place we must go to New York to-morrow night.”

“We can do that well enough. I am ready to go to-night.”

“I can’t go and leave this house, and all the furniture, paying the

rent while I am gone.”

“Leave it in the hands of Tom Flynn. He will sell the furniture and let

the house. There are enough who will want it.”

“That is not even the principal trouble. The bank will not let me off

without my giving some notice, so that the officers can get another

person in my place.”

“It would be mean in them to keep you when you have a good chance to

better your condition.”

“I think I can manage it somehow, Lilian; and I feel almost sure that

we shall go.”

“O, I am so glad!”

“But, Lilian, you must not tell a single soul where you are going, or,

indeed, that you are going at all.”

“Not tell any one! Why not?” she asked, as if it would be a great

hardship to deprive herself of the pleasure of telling her friends that

she was going to Paris.

“I will tell you why, Lilian. It is difficult and dangerous business. I

am not sure of the position yet. Suppose I should go to New York, and

then, after I had thrown up my situation in the bank, find that the

firm who made the partial offer did not want me? I should have lost my

present place without having obtained another.”

“That’s very true. I understand you, perfectly.”

“If I find in New York that I can have the position, it will be time

enough for me to resign my place in the bank. If I am disappointed, I

have only to return to my present place. If it should get to the ears

of Mr. Bristlebach that I am doing anything of this kind, he might fill

my place in my absence—don’t you see?”

“I do; it is plain enough.”

“You can tell your mother that you are going away to-morrow night, and

that possibly I may accept a position in New Orleans.”

“In New Orleans?”

“Yes; it won’t do to say any thing about Paris yet.”

“I am sorry we have to go off in this way; but I would rather do it

than not go at all.”

I am willing to confess that my conscience reproached me for thus

deceiving my loving wife; but I believed that I was doing it for her

good—to save her from a fate so terrible that neither of us could

comprehend it. We discussed the details of the plan in full, and

she promised to be as circumspect as I could desire. We had two

traveling trunks which we had used upon our bridal tour, and these

were immediately brought into requisition. Leaving Lilian to commence

packing, I left the house with the intention of seeing Mr. Brentbone,

who had so long been anxious to have my house. I found him at his

lodgings. I stated my business, and inquired if he still wished to

obtain the dwelling.

“I am still open to a trade. I offered your uncle three hundred bonus

for the house,” said he.

“But I wish to sell my furniture.”

“Very well; if it suits my wife, I will buy it.”

“I lost a good deal of money to-day by the coppers, and I must change

my plans.”

“Ah! I am sorry for you; but I see you are a prudent young man.”

“I am in a hurry to dispose of the matter, for I have a good chance to

board now. If you and Mrs. Brentbone will walk over to the house, we

can show you what there is in it.”

The gentleman and the lady were willing, and I accompanied them to

Needham Street. Mrs. Brentbone found some fault with the furniture,

and rather objected to purchasing it. I intimated that I should not

dispose of my lease unless I could sell the furniture.

“What do you ask for the furniture?” he inquired.

“Twenty-two hundred dollars, including the piano, or seventeen hundred

without. I can show you bills for fifteen hundred; and a hundred small

things not included in them.”

“You ask too much. I must pay twenty-five hundred to get possession, at

this rate,” said Mr. Brentbone. He made me various offers, but I was

satisfied that he would give my price, and I did not abate a dollar.

The trade was closed, and he agreed to see me at the bank the next day,

where we were to pass the papers. My landlord consented to endorse the

lease over to the new tenant. Mrs. Brentbone had a talk with Bridget,

and engaged her to remain in the place. Everything was going as well

as I could expect. Lilian and I staid up till midnight packing our

clothes, and preparing for our abrupt departure.

I went to the bank as usual, the next morning. On my way I stopped at

the pianoforte warerooms, and bought the piano in my house which I had

only hired, for however guilty I had been, and intended to be, I still

had a certain sense of worldly honor, which would not permit me to do

what I regarded as a mean action, though I acknowledge that I did not

discriminate very nicely in some portions of my conduct. But I settled

the bill for four hundred dollars.

Mr. Brentbone came according to his promise. I gave him the lease, and

the bill of sale of the furniture for his check. My uncle happened to

come in while we were doing the business. I told him that my losses the

day before had induced me to accept Mr. Brentbone’s offer for my house.

He commended me for my prudence. Mr. Bristlebach also expressed his

approbation of the economical step I had taken, and declared that he

had more confidence in me than before. He liked to see a young man take

counsel of prudence.

I took advantage of his good-nature to put in my request for leave of

absence for a single day, to enable me to visit a friend in Albany

who was sick. The permission was promptly granted. I balanced my cash

for the last time, leaving it thirty-eight thousand dollars short,

to account for which I altered various charges and credits, and made

several fictitious entries. The account was left square, and if no

particular investigation was instituted, my deficit might remain

concealed for some time. With the twenty thousand dollars which I had

just appropriated I left the bank—for the last time.

_CHAPTER XXI._

AN EXILE FROM HOME.

I WAS astonished to find that I could commit a crime of such magnitude

with so little remorse. It is true, the sin had become, in a measure,

necessary to my salvation, and that of my wife; but I was only excited,

not burdened with guilt, when I did the deed. I had been traveling

very rapidly on the downward road, and in a few weeks I had acquired

a facility in crime which enabled me to rob the bank of thirty

thousand dollars without considering any thing but the peril of being

discovered. Fatal facility, which can only be avoided by those who

refrain from taking the first step!

I had deluded myself into the belief that principle was only a worldly

sense of honor. Tom Flynn was a man of genuine principle, for his

actions were based upon a religious foundation, which alone can

vitalize principle. A man may be honest because it is safer or more

reputable to be so; but then he would steal if it were not for being

found out, and will be as dishonest as fashion or custom will tolerate.

When I had leisure to think of the matter, I marvelled that I had

fallen so easily; and this was the explanation I made to myself.

Tom Flynn had said as much as this to me, in the way of argument,

assuring me it was quite impossible for a man without the love of God

and the love of man in his heart—which is the epitome of the whole

gospel—to have any genuine principle in his soul. Any thing short

of this is mere sentiment, which is blown aside by the rude blast of

temptation. The hymn he used to sing so much seemed to tell the whole

story:—

“I want a principle within

Of jealous, godly fear;

A sensibility to sin,

A pain to find it near.”

Worldly honor, the fear of discovery, the bubble of reputation, are

not enough to keep a man in the path of rectitude. But I will not

anticipate the reflections which were forced upon me afterwards. I

did not believe I was much worse than the majority of young men. I

certainly did not mean to steal when I began to take money from the

bank; and even when I found it necessary to flee from the anticipated

consequences of my errors, I had a certain undefined expectation of

being able to restore all I had taken. The fortune of Aunt Rachel still

flitted through my mind as the solution of the difficult problem.

I left the bank struggling to look cool and indifferent. I bowed and

spoke to my acquaintances as naturally as possible. In two or three

hours more I should be out of the city, perhaps never to see it again.

I could not even go down to Springhaven to see my mother—probably

I had seen her for the last time on earth. My blood seemed like ice

as the thought came to my mind. I reflected upon all she had been to

me, all she had done for me. The prayers and the hymns she had taught

me in my childhood came back to me as though I had learned them but

yesterday. I was amazed at my own folly and wickedness. What a blow I

was dealing to that mother! When she heard that her only son had fled

from his home, steeped in crime, and covered with shame how she would

weep! For days months and years she would groan in bitterness of spirit.

What a wretch, what a villain, what an ingrate I was to strike her in

this cruel manner! My sense of worldly honor would have revolted at

the thought of giving her even the slightest blow with my hand; but how

inconceivably more cruel was the blow I was giving her by my conduct!

Could I have sooner realized the anguish which the thought of my mother

would cause me, I think it might have saved me.

I could not make up my mind to doom her who had given me being, who

had watched over me in my childhood, who had loved me as none else but

God could love me, to such awful agony as the revelation of my crime

would cause her. Was there no way to escape? I could restore the thirty

thousand dollars. With the proceeds of my house and furniture I could

make up three thousand more. I was really, then, only five thousand

dollars in debt—the sum which I had lost in copper stocks. The case

seemed not so desperate, after all. I could go to Aunt Rachel, tell

her, with the genuine penitence I then felt what a wicked deed I had

done. She would lend me five thousand dollars, and I could pay all I

owed.

My heart leaped with delight as I thought of this remedy. But then

there might be some delay. Lilian was all ready to start for New

York. It was possible that the deficit might be discovered before I

had raised the money. If it were, I was lost. Still farther, if I paid

the three thousand dollars in my possession into the bank, I should

not have any thing to furnish another house. I should be compelled to

board, and very likely the circumstances would drive me back to Mrs.

Oliphant’s. I shuddered as I considered it.

I thought of my mother again, and had almost resolved to adopt the

suggestion of my better nature, when I was tempted to enter a bar-room.

I drank a glass of whiskey. The effect of strong drink upon me was to

stupefy my faculties and make me reckless. I drank a second and then a

third glass, in as many different saloons. I forgot my mother then. I

was excited, and pictured to myself the delights of foreign travel.

I am almost sure now, so strong was the tendency upon me, that I should

have carried out the suggestion of my higher impulses, if I had not

entered the bar-room. The devil of whiskey drove the good resolution,

still in its formative state, out of my mind. If the thought of my

mother came back to me, I drove it from me. In this frame of mind, I

could not think of humiliating myself by confessing my errors even to

Aunt Rachel, the most indulgent of women.

I walked up Tremont Street, thinking of the future. The die was cast,

and I refused to avail myself of the means of escape which were open to

me. It was a sorry day for me when I turned from the road which might

have restored me to honor and integrity. As the events proved, it would

have been better, and I should have realized more than I anticipated.

I had long dreamed of seeing the wonders of the old world, and the

prospect of doing so at once had a powerful influence upon me. Within

twenty-four hours I should be on board of a steamer bound to Europe;

but at the same time I should be an exile from home, from honor and

integrity, leaving a ruined name and a blasted reputation behind me.

“How are you, Paley?”

It was Tom Flynn. His voice startled me. I would rather have met any

other one than him, for his very looks seemed to reproach me.

“Ah, how do you do, Tom?” I replied, in some confusion.

“So you are going to Albany to-night?” he added.

“Yes; poor Whiting is quite sick?”

“Who?”

“Whiting; don’t you know him?”

“No; who is he?”

“I knew him in the city here, and we were cronies.”

Whiting was a myth, but I had a facility for lying which helped me

through in an emergency.

“I hope you will find him better.”

“I’m afraid it’s all up with him; he is probably in consumption.”

“I am sorry for him.”

“I suppose you knew I had sold my furniture and lease?”

“No!” exclaimed he, opening his eyes.

“Yes. Brentbone takes possession to-night.”

“I am sorry for that, for I liked to go there.”

“The fact is, I lost heavily for me in coppers, and I can’t afford to

keep that house any longer.”

“One must be prudent,” said he, musing. “I was afraid you were going a

little too fast. Did you lose much?”

“Considerable, for me.”

“If I can do any thing to help you out, Paley, I will, with the

greatest pleasure. I never had anything to do with fancy stocks.”

“Thank you, Tom. You are fortunate. But I must go along.”

“I suppose you are in a hurry, so I will walk along with you. I don’t

know but you will think me impertinent, Paley, but I don’t want to

meddle with your business, in a bad sense. I have been thinking that

something was going wrong with you.”

“With me?” I demanded, not a little startled by this candid revelation.

“Going wrong?”

“I had an idea that you were losing money, or that something serious

troubled you.”

“What makes you think so?” I asked.

“I hardly know; but you seem to act strangely; to be excited or

absent-minded. Perhaps you have lost more on coppers than you care to

acknowledge?”

“Well, I have lost more than I ought to lose.”

“And—excuse me, Paley—but you have been drinking.”

“Only a nipper or two for a pain which often vexes me.”

“It’s a dangerous practice—don’t do it, Paley. Better suffer the pain

than fall into a bad habit. I’m impudent, I know, but I can’t help it.

I wouldn’t have things go wrong with you for all the world. Are you in

debt?”

“Somewhat.”

“Let me help you out. With what I have saved myself, and with what came

to me from my father’s estate, I have about eight thousand dollars.

Promise me that you won’t drink any more, and I will let you have money

enough to help you out of debt.”

“What has the drinking to do with it?” I asked, rather vexed at the

manner in which he put the question.

“I am always afraid that any man who drinks will become a drunkard.

Perhaps it is a superstition; but I can’t help it, and you know that

the theory is backed up by common experience.”

“I don’t think I’m in any danger; but I am not exactly willing to be

bought up to total abstinence.”

“I didn’t mean that, Paley. You know how much wine was drank at your

party. Never mind that now; we will talk of it at another time. How

much do you owe?”

“Five or six thousand.”

“So much!” exclaimed he.

“All of that. I lost just five thousand on Bustumups,” I replied,

desperately.

“I had no idea you were in so deep as that,” he added, looking very

serious. “But I will not go back on myself. I will lend you every

dollar I have rather than permit the world to go wrong with you. We

will talk it over when you return from Albany.”

We parted at the corner of Needham Street, for he was going to the

Oliphants to see Miss Bertha. What could Tom mean? He had observed

that something was wrong with me. I was troubled. If he had noticed

it, perhaps others had, and it was time for me to be gone. He was a

noble fellow, and I knew that he was deeply concerned about me. From

his standpoint, I had been gambling in fancy stocks, had lost, and

was in imminent peril of becoming a drunkard under the influence of

my financial troubles. He wanted to be a brother to me, but I felt

humiliated by the view he took of my case. Why should he think I was in

danger of becoming a drunkard? It was fanaticism.

He offered to lend me money enough to pay my debts. I could not borrow

it of him. I could not place myself under so great an obligation to

him. He tendered me the means of making myself square with the bank;

but then I should be a beggar, five thousand in debt, instead of

travelling like a lord in Europe, with over thirty thousand dollars at

my disposal. My pride resented his offer and I did not give it another

thought.

Dinner was ready when I went into the house. Lilian had almost worn

herself out in getting ready for her departure. She told me she had

been at her mother’s, and that the whole family were astonished when

she told them I had sold out the English basement house. She had

informed them that I had an offer in New Orleans, as I had directed her

to do; in a word, she had been faithful to my instructions. Before the

carriage came for us, Mrs. Oliphant and her two daughters appeared to

bid us good-by. I must say that “dear ma” behaved with great propriety

on this trying occasion, for it must be remembered that she expected to

see no more of Lilian for months, if not for years.

We drove to the railroad station with our two heavy trunks. It was

fortunate that neither Tom Flynn nor any one but the Oliphants took it

into his head to “see us off,” or the quantity of baggage we carried

might have provoked inquiry. The train moved out of the station-house,

and I felt that I had bade farewell to Boston forever. I had my wife,

but I had sundered all ties with every body else.

“I hope we shall not have to come back here again next week,” said

Lilian, as the train began to increase its speed.

“There is little danger of that,” I replied.

I was obliged to admit to myself that I might possibly be brought back

by an officer, with irons on my wrists, within a week. I had committed

a crime which would condemn me to the State Prison for a long term of

years, if discovered—and it could not be long concealed.

“Do you really think we shall go to Europe, Paley?”

“I have hardly a doubt of it.”

“Then why didn’t you let me tell mother, and not make her think I was

going to New Orleans?”

“I told you the reasons, my dear, and I hope you will be satisfied with

them,” I answered, rather petulantly.

“Don’t be cross, Paley.”

“I’m not cross.”

But the fumes of the whiskey I had drank were nearly evaporated, and I

did not feel right. I could not help dreading something which I tried

to define. If Tom Flynn had suspected that something was going wrong

with me, it was not impossible that Mr. Bristlebach, or Mr. Heavyside,

had been equally penetrating in their observations. It was possible

that, at this moment, the bank officers were engaged in examining my

accounts and my cash. Any attempt to verify some of my entries must

infallibly expose me.

Even without any suspicions of me, they might, in looking over my

accounts, discover the altered figures, or the fictitious items. An

accident might betray me. Perhaps the detectives were already on my

track. Telegraphic dispatches to New York might place officers at the

station in that city ready to arrest me when I arrived. If my deficit

was exposed, it would be impossible for me to take a foreign-bound

steamer. My photograph, or at least my description, would be in the

hands of all the detectives.

All these reflections, all these fears and misgivings, are the penalty

of crime. I was called to endure them, as thousands of others have

been; and those who commit crimes must remember that these things are

“nominated in the bond.” But no telegram preceded me; no detectives

dogged my steps; and the bank had no suspicion that anything was wrong

with me. We went to the Fifth Avenue Hotel on our arrival in the city.

I hastened down town after breakfast, engaged a state-room in the

steamer which sailed at one o’clock, and procured a letter of credit

on London for three thousand five hundred pounds, payable to Charles

Gaspiller, whose signature I left to be forwarded to the banker. I

then went to a barber, and had my beard, except the moustache, shaved

off. When I entered the parlor of the hotel, Lilian did not at first

recognize me. She was talking to a lady and gentleman—a young married

couple—whose acquaintance we had made at breakfast. They intended to

sail in the afternoon for Havana. The husband was about my size, and

not unlike me. He wore only a moustache, and for this reason I had

sacrificed my beard. If any detectives, after a few days, should be

disposed to ascertain what had become of me, they would be as likely to

follow him to Havana as me to Liverpool. It was well to be prudent and

take advantage of circumstances.

_CHAPTER XXII._

CHARLES GASPILLER.

I HAD avoided writing my name in the register of the hotel, for I did

not wish to leave any recorded traces of my presence in the city. It

occurred to me that perhaps Lilian had told her name to her new-made

friends, but they would soon be in the tropics, and out of the reach of

detectives. I regarded myself as very shrewd, and I could not exactly

see how it was possible for any one to obtain a trace of me, after the

steamer had departed.

I had given my name at the steamer office as Charles Gaspiller, and

the money for my bill of exchange was to be drawn in London under this

appellation. I don’t know how I happened to select this name. It was a

French word which probably came back to my memory from my studies at

the high school; but I had forgotten its meaning, though I could read

French tolerably well. When I came to ascertain its signification, I

was not a little surprised to find that it exactly fitted my case,

for it means “to waste, to squander, to lavish.” It was entirely by

accident that I chose this word, and I certainly should not have done

so had I been aware that it covered my case so exactly.

But if I succeeded in concealing my identity from others, I could not

hide it from my wife. If I was Mr. Gaspiller, she must of necessity

be Mrs. Gaspiller. We were not at all fitted to pass ourselves off as

French people, for my pronunciation had been so neglected at school,

that I could hardly speak a word of the language with which I was

tolerably familiar by the eye. Lilian knew still less of it. I knew

that double _l_ in French had a liquid sound, and I called the word

Gas-pee-ay. It would be singular that I should have a French name,

pronounced with a French accent, and yet not be able to speak the

language. I was afraid I had made an unpleasant bed for myself. But I

determined as soon as I reached Paris to master the language.

How could I have the assurance to tell Lilian that her name was

Gaspiller, and not Glasswood. I might convince her that the latter

was too commonplace to travel in Europe upon—indeed she was already

convinced of that, for she often, in her lively manner, made fun of

the cognomen. I could assure her that, while I was not to blame for

my name, the word was so inconsistent, absurd and contradictory, that

it would subject me to ridicule. It was no part of my purpose to tell

her I was a defaulter, an exile from home, a fugitive from justice. It

would break her gentle heart. Yet I was not sure that it would not come

to this.

After I had completed all my preparations, I was in her presence with

my bill of exchange and my passage receipt in my pocket. She was

talking with the lady who was going to Havana when I entered. She

looked at me, and as soon as she recognized me, she commented merrily

upon the change which the loss of my whiskers made in my appearance.

She rose from her chair, but her friend talked so fast that she could

not at once leave her. I knew how anxious she was to know the final

answer of the great banking-house to which I had alluded. Upon that

depended the voyage to Europe. As soon as she could decently do so, she

tore herself away from her companion, and sat down on the sofa at my

side.

“Are you going, Paley, or not?” she asked, with breathless eagerness.

In answer to this inquiry I inadvertently pulled out the receipt for

the passage money, which constituted the ticket. I did not at the

moment think that it ran in favor of “Charles Gaspiller,” for I was not

quite ready to tell her that I had changed my name.

“What is this, Paley?” she asked, blankly. “I don’t understand it.”

“Don’t you, my dear? Why, it is our ticket for a passage in the steamer

to Liverpool,” I replied, cheerfully.

“This? ‘Received of Charles Gas-pill-er!’” said she, reading just what

the letters of my new name spelled.

How stupid I was! Why had I not told her in so many words, that we were

to go, instead of doing the thing in this sensational way?

“Precisely so; that is the French for Glasswood,” I replied, laughing

as gaily as my confusion would permit. “I don’t want Frenchmen in Paris

to call me _Bois de Verre_, which means wood made of glass, or anything

of that sort. The name is Gas-pee-ay, and not Gas-pill-er.”

“But how does it happen that the receipt is given to you under this

name?”

“Because I don’t want to be called Glasswood in Europe. But, my dear,

we have no time to spare now, and we shall have ten days of idleness

as soon as the steamer sails. So we must not stop to discuss this

matter at the present time. We must be on board at half-past twelve,

and it is after eleven now,” I continued, with sufficient excitement in

my manner to change the current of her thoughts.

“Then we are really going!” exclaimed she, opening her bright eyes.

“Certainly we are; and going immediately.”

“Why, I wanted to go shopping in New York, if we were really going.”

“Shopping! That’s absurd! Ladies never go shopping in New York, when

they are on their way to Paris.”

“But I must write a letter to mother.”

“Certainly; you have time to do that while I speak for a carriage and

pay the bill.”

I procured note paper and envelopes for her, and went down to settle my

account at the office. The polite book-keeper asked me to indicate the

name on the register. I told him I had not written it. I had wound my

handkerchief around my right hand, which I held up to him, and declared

that I was unable to use a pen. He was kind enough to offer to render

me the service himself.

“C. Gaspiller,” I added, when he was ready to write.

“What is it, sir?”

“C. Gaspiller.”

He wrote “C. Caspeare,” and I was entirely satisfied.

“Three dollars, Mr. Caspeare,” said he; and I gave him the amount,

though it was one dollar more than the regular charge.

I was confident that I was leaving no trace of myself here. A carriage

was ordered for me, and my trunks were loaded. I went up for Lilian,

and found that she had finished her letter. She gave it to me to be

stamped and mailed. I took a stamp from my porte-monnaie, carefully

adjusted it upon the envelope, and put the letter in my pocket. Of

course I was not stupid enough to mail it, since it would betray my

secret to those who could not see the necessity of keeping it.

“This is very sudden, Paley,” said Lilian, as the carriage drove off.

“Sudden? Why, I told you this was the way it would have to be done, if

it was done at all,” I replied.

“I know you did. Won’t dear ma be astonished when she reads my letter?”

“Probably she will be,” I answered; but I thought she would be

astonished, long before she read it.

I confess that my conscience reproached me when I thought of the letter

in my pocket, and of the deception towards my wife, of which I was

guilty. Her father, mother and sisters would wonder, and be permitted

to wonder, for weeks if not for months, that they did not hear from

her. It was cruel for me to deceive Lilian, and to subject her family

to all the anxiety to which I thus doomed them, but I believed that it

was a stern necessity, and I silenced the upbraidings of the inward

monitor. With thirty thousand dollars of stolen money in my pocket,

it may be supposed that I did not trouble myself much upon such an

insignificant matter as the peace of my wife’s friends.

We went on board of the steamer and I found our state-room. Being one

of the last engaged, it was not the best on board, though it was a very

comfortable one. Lilian was delighted with it, and declared that she

should be as happy as a queen in it. I was afraid she was mistaken. She

had never traveled any except on our bridal tour, and I expected she

would be sea-sick all the way. But now she was excited by the prospect

before her, and by the busy scene which surrounded us. The steamer was

crowded with those who were going, and with their friends who had come

to see them off. There was no one to say adieu to Lilian or to me.

If, of the multitude on the wharf, there was any one who felt an

interest in me, it could only be a detective. I was a fugitive, and I

felt like one. While Lilian was full of life and animated by the scene,

I could not help feeling depressed. I was bidding farewell to my native

land, perhaps forever. It might never be safe for me to return. I could

not get rid of a certain sense of insecurity. It seemed to me, after

I saw the men casting off the huge hawsers that held the ship to the

pier, that those infernal detectives must come on board and hurry me

back to a prison cell in the city from which I had fled.

Any flurry in the crowd, the arrival of a belated passenger, gave me

a pang of anxiety which I cannot describe. It was only when the huge

steamer was clear of the dock, and the great wheels began to turn, that

I dared to breathe in a natural manner. Even then I was thrown into

a fresh agony, when a steam-tug came out to us to put the mails on

board. I was sure, until it was alongside, that it had been specially

chartered by the detectives to arrest me. I was determined to jump

overboard and perish in the waves, in sight of my wife, rather than be

borne back to a long term of imprisonment in a dungeon. It was better

to die than confront my friends in Boston.

I asked one of the officers what the tug was, as she came alongside,

that I need not be tempted to do a deed for which there was no real

necessity. He assured me it contained only the mails, and I breathed

easier; but I was not entirely satisfied that the officers had not

availed themselves of this last opportunity to arrest their victim,

until the tug had cast off, and the steamer started on her long voyage.

I was safe then. My throbbing heart returned to its natural pulsations.

But I could not forget the ruin and disgrace which would soon cover my

name and fame in Boston. I could not shut out from my view the horror

of my mother when she learned that I was a fugitive from justice, and

that I had mocked her fondest hopes. I was miserable for the time,

and Lilian rallied me upon my gloomy appearance. There was a remedy

which I had tried before for this mental suffering. Leaving my wife

for a moment, I went down to the steward’s room, and drank a glass of

whiskey. I found that lunch was on the table, and I conducted Lilian to

the saloon. I ordered a bottle of sherry, and a few glasses of this,

in addition to what I had already taken, soon gave my reproaches of

conscience to the winds for the time.

I do not intend to describe our voyage. It was an unusually pleasant

one, and Lilian suffered but very little from sea-sickness. In a few

days, as the distance from my native land increased, I felt tolerably

secure from the consequences of my crime; but I found it impossible to

get rid of the thought of my mother and other friends at home. Even

whiskey and wine soon failed to stupefy me unless I partook of them in

inordinate quantities. Lilian told me I drank too much, and begged me

not to do so any more. She was so gentle and so tender that I could not

refuse, for I had not acquired a decided appetite for the intoxicating

cup. I only drank it for the solace it afforded me, and I was fully

convinced that the severe headaches and the disordered stomach which

troubled me were the effects of this excess. I would gladly refrain,

but there was “no peace for the wicked.”

I will not attempt to describe my sufferings, though I appeared

cheerful and happy to my wife. I could not wholly conceal them from

her, and she worried me with her questions, anxious to know what ailed

me. We arrived at Liverpool and hastened on to London, for I wished to

cash my bill before it was possible for anything to go wrong. I had

no trouble in doing so. My signature had already reached the bankers,

having come out in the same steamer with me. With the gold which I

had brought, I had four thousand five hundred pounds. To prevent

any trace being had of me, I went to another banker and purchased a

circular letter of credit for a thousand pounds, investing the rest in

securities which paid me about five per cent.

We spent a month in London, seeing the sights, and Lilian was as happy

as a woman could be. I had satisfied her that the change of name was

purely a matter of convenience, and she soon became accustomed to it.

She wrote letters to her mother and other friends, and gave them to me

to be mailed. I lighted my cigar with them. We had rooms at Morley’s,

but we saw no one, knew no one in the house, except the servants. One

day, after dinner, I went out to obtain some tickets to visit Windsor

castle, leaving Lilian in the room. When I came back I found her in

terrible excitement. She had a Boston newspaper in her hand, which the

landlord, as a special favor, had sent up to our apartments.

“O Charles—Paley!” said she; and I saw that she had been weeping.

“What does this mean?”

“What, my dear?” I asked, appalled at the tempest which was rising.

“This paper says there is a rumor of a defalcation in the Forty-Ninth

National Bank, and that the paying teller has disappeared. Were not you

the paying teller, Paley?”

She suddenly ceased to call me Charles, as I had instructed her to

do. Evidently she knew more than I wished her to know. I took the

newspaper. It was dated about a week after our departure from Boston.

The paragraph said it was rumored that there was a heavy defalcation in

the Forty-Ninth. The paying teller had been missing for a week. That

was all. It was merely an item which some industrious reporter had

picked up; and the particulars had not yet been published. Doubtless

the detectives were looking for me.

With tears in her eyes Lilian again demanded an explanation of the

paragraph. What could I say?

_CHAPTER XXIII._

MY CONFESSION.

I HAD apparently deceived my wife as far as it was possible for me to

do so. If I told her the truth, would she not spurn me, cast me out

and despise me? How could she do less? She was innocent, she was true,

she was beautiful; and I was afraid of her. Many and many a time had I

cursed my folly and wickedness in departing, even for a moment, from

the straight path of rectitude. I wondered that I had been able to

delude myself into the belief that taking even a few hundred dollars

for a brief period was not a crime.

Be warned, O young man, against the _first_ wrong step. While you cheat

others, you are the greatest dupe yourself.

In the excitement of seeing the wonders of London I had found some

relief from the goadings of conscience, and from the terrors of the

future. Almost every day I met some Americans, seeing the sights which

attracted strangers. I avoided them, for I feared that I should

be recognized by some one from Boston. Lilian desired to see these

Americans, but I was obliged to lead her away from them. I was not only

an exile from home, but I felt like a leper among my own countrymen.

I was now to face a genuine trial, not a fear, but a reality. After

reading the paragraph in the newspaper, my wife had evidently measured

my conduct by the suspicions she entertained. By this time she was

satisfied that I had not resorted to so much concealment in leaving

Boston for the reasons I had alleged. My course was inconsistent from

beginning to end. I could easily imagine what had passed through her

mind since she read that paragraph.

Possibly I might succeed in lulling her suspicions for the time. I

might even argue her out of them. She was innocence and simplicity,

like her father, rather than her mother, and would try to believe what

I told her. But what was the use to attempt to deceive her any longer?

The truth would soon dawn upon her. Yet I had not the courage to be

candid with her.

“Why don’t you tell me about it, Paley?” repeated she, anxiously, as I

turned over the newspaper.

“What shall I tell you, Lilian?”

“Tell me that you are not a defaulter.”

“Well, I’m not, then,” I replied, with a smile, which I am sure was a

very grim one.

She looked at me, and I saw her eyes fill with tears after she had

gazed at me in silence for a moment. I think that my tone and my looks

belied my speech, and without heeding the value of the words I used,

they conveyed to her the impression that I was guilty.

“Why do you cry, Lilian?” I asked, moved by her tears.

“I don’t know. I can’t help it. I feel just as though something was

going wrong,” she replied, covering her face with her handkerchief.

“Why, what do you mean, Lilian?”

“Every thing looks very strange to me.”

“What looks strange?”

“That we should have left so suddenly; that I could not even tell dear

ma where we were going; that you were in such a hurry to reach your new

place in Paris, though we have stopped a whole month in London. What is

the reason I have no letters from home?”

“Because none have come, I suppose. I have not received any,” I

answered, struggling to be funny.

“Paley, you told me, if you left for Paris, that you should write to

the bank officers, and resign your situation. You did not do so. This

paper says you have been missing for a week, and there is a suspicion

that your accounts are not all right. Tell me the worst, Paley. I will

try to bear it,” she continued, wiping away the tears which filled her

eyes.

I was tempted to do so. She had been worrying for weeks about her

letters, and she would continue to do so as long as we remained in

Europe. No letters would come; none could come. Her parents and her

sisters were as anxious about her as she was about them. I could never

make peace on the plan which I had laid out at home. My wife would

become more and more unhappy, and after the facts of my defalcation had

been fully published, I should be still more in dread of meeting some

American who would recognize me. As a teller in the bank I was well

known to many of the wealthiest men of Boston. Under existing treaties,

I could be arrested in most of the European nations, and sent back to

the scene of my crime. There was no place of safety for me. I could not

flee from the wrath to come.

“What do you suspect, Lilian?” I inquired.

“I should not suspect anything, if this paper did not say that your

accounts were supposed to be wrong. I don’t know any thing about

such things, but this paragraph set me to thinking how strange your

movements were when you left Boston. I wish I could believe it is all

right. Why don’t you go to your place in Paris? We had to leave home at

twenty-four hours’ notice, because there must be no delay.”

“We are going next week.”

“But you have laid your plans to travel in Europe for the next year, at

least.”

What was the use for me to attempt to explain? It was worse than folly.

I had told Lilian so many stories, without regard to their consistency,

that she knew not what to believe. I was disgusted with myself.

“I don’t see where you got so much money, either, Paley,” she added.

“Do you think I stole it?” I asked, somewhat severely.

“I’m afraid you did,” she answered, with a shudder.

“You are?”

“When I think of it, I am really afraid you did. Here we are in London

under an assumed name. All your papers call you Charles Gaspiller. You

told me you had over thirty thousand dollars too.”

“I should have had more if I had not lost any,” I replied, in rather a

surly tone.

“Tell me the whole truth, Paley. Let me know the worst. If my husband

is a—”

“A what?”

“A defaulter, a thief. Let me know it,” said she, with a burst of agony.

“A thief!” I exclaimed, springing to my feet.

“Don’t be angry, Paley.”

“When my wife calls me a thief, we have been together long enough,” I

added, sternly.

I took my hat, and rushed out of the room. I was angry, but my wrath

was of only a moment’s duration. I went out into the Strand, and walked

at a furious pace till I reached the American Agency. I wished to know

the worst. If I had been published as a defaulter in Boston, I was no

longer safe in London. I wished to see a file of Boston papers. I had

not thought of looking at them before, because I desired to banish my

native land from my mind.

I turned the folios till I came to the one which Lilian had seen. I

read the paragraph again. It was very vague. It did not say that the

missing teller was a defaulter; it only hinted at something of the

kind, for the inference always is, when a bank officer disappears,

that his cash is short. I turned over the sheet to find something more

about the matter. There was nothing else about me or the bank; but as I

examined the paper, my eyes rested for a moment on the list of deaths.

“In Springhaven, 15th inst., Miss Rachel Glasswood, 67 years.”

My aunt had passed away on the very day that I sailed from New York!

How I cursed myself again and again! If I had not fled I should

certainly have been able to pay my debt to the bank in a short time,

for I was confident she had left me enough for this. I had banished

myself from home for nothing. I had suffered tortures which no innocent

man can understand or conceive of, and years of misery were still

before me. I had made up my mind long before, that honesty was the best

policy; and I even had a glimmering conception of something higher than

this. I was sure I should have been happier with poverty and hard labor

for my lot, if I could only have been honest.

How I envied Tom Flynn! His piety, which I had derided, seemed to me

now to be the sum total of earthly joy. I do not believe in cant of

any kind, but if ever a man was convicted of sin, I was, though I had

not yet the courage to attempt to retrace my steps. My wife virtually

called me a thief. It was only the truth; I deserved the epithet, and

more than that.

I turned to the next paper. There was nothing about me or the bank in

it, and I continued my search till, in a subsequent issue, I found

another paragraph. The writer was happy to assure the public that the

bank would not lose a dollar by the missing teller. I was surprised

at this announcement, for I was indebted to the bank in the sum of

thirty-eight thousand dollars. I could not understand it. I turned to

the stock lists in the several papers. The shares in the Forty-Ninth

had been affected by the first paragraph, but the quotations showed

that they had been restored by the information contained in the second.

I concluded that the bank had determined to conceal my deficit to

avoid the loss of public confidence. But while I was trying to satisfy

myself with this theory, a better one was suggested to me. My aunt

died on the day of my departure. Within the week the substance of her

will was known to Captain Halliard. She had left her whole fortune to

me, and it was to be used in making good the deficiency in my cash.

Of course I had no idea how much she had left, but I supposed it was

enough to satisfy the bank, or to pay the loss with the sums for

which my bondsmen were liable. One thing was plain, that, if the bank

acknowledged no loss, it would not proceed against me; and I realized

that I was safe from arrest while in Europe.

I could find no further allusion to the missing teller in any of the

papers. If the deficit was made good, doubtless my friends would

labor to cover up my errors. As the matter now stood, the money in my

possession belonged to me. I tried to make myself believe that it was

Aunt Rachel’s fortune. But I could not wink out of sight my blasted

reputation, for, whatever the papers said, or failed to say, people

would have their own opinions about my sudden departure. I was far from

satisfied. If my financial record were explained away, I could not get

rid of the consciousness of my own guilt, which was positive suffering

to me. I was convicted of my sin, and I had even prayed to God for

mercy under my misery.

Poor Lilian was suffering quite as severely. I had left her in anger,

and the tears came to my eyes when I thought of her. I hastened back

to the hotel. I found her lying upon the sofa, sobbing like a child. I

raised her in my arms, kissed her tenderly, and begged her to forgive

my harsh conduct.

“O, Paley! how miserable I am! Only tell me that you are not guilty,

and I shall be happy,” she said.

“You would hate and despise me if I told you the truth, Lilian,” I

replied.

“Then it is the truth!” she exclaimed, springing up, and looking at me

with something like horror in her expression.

I did not know what had come over me, unless it was the conscious

conviction of my sin, but without definitely resolving to tell the

truth, I found it impossible to utter any more lies. Life seemed to me

a more solemn thing than ever before.

“I deserve the worst you can say of me, Lilian.”

“Then you are a defaulter, Paley?”

“I am; but no one knows it.”

“Yes, I know it.”

“I wish I could hide it from myself. You shall know all, Lilian.”

“But give back the money. I would rather be a beggar and sweep the

crossings of the streets, than live in luxury on stolen money.”

“Do not be too severe, Lilian. The bank will not lose a dollar by me.

On the very day that we sailed from New York, Aunt Rachel died. I have

no doubt that she left most of her property to me; and the bank has by

this time been paid every dollar I owed it.”

“That is some comfort, but not much. You have ruined your reputation.

Poor Aunt Rachel! I wish I had seen more of her. What could tempt you

to go astray, Paley?” continued my wife, the tears coming to her eyes

again.

“I was extravagant, and lived beyond my means. I borrowed the money to

furnish our house, and I was otherwise in debt.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Paley? We all thought you were made of money.”

“I had not the courage to tell you.”

“I know I am giddy, and fond of dress and show, but I would rather have

lived in an attic, and dressed in calico, than had you run in debt. You

always said you had plenty of money, and your salary seemed to be more

than enough to supply all our wants.”

“I was weak and foolish, Lilian. I can see it now; I could not see it

then.”

I told her the whole story from the beginning to the end—how I had

been thorned by my uncle and by other creditors, and how I had been

tempted to take the money from the bank. I told the truth, as I

understood it at the time, when I declared that I had not, at first,

intended to rob my employers. She listened to me with the deepest

interest, occasionally interrupting me with questions. I told her

the whole truth. I did not even conceal from her the fact that I

had destroyed her letters. She wept bitterly as she rehearsed the

sufferings of her parents and sisters.

“Let us go home, Paley,” said she, when I had finished the loathsome

confession. “I don’t want to see Europe till you have atoned for your

fault.”

“I may be thrown into prison if I go to Boston again,” I suggested.

She clasped me in her arms and wept upon my neck. If her heart was

bursting, mine was hardly less affected. The afternoon, the evening,

the night passed away, and still we wept and groaned in bitterness

of spirit in each other’s arms. The clock struck four in the morning

before we could decide what to do. She could not advise me to go home

if a prison cell awaited me. I never realized the pressure of guilt

so heavily before. I never knew my wife till then. Guilty as I was

she still clung to me, and was willing to share my lot of shame and

disgrace.

In the morning hours I told her what I would do. I would write to Tom

Flynn. I would confess my error to him, assure him of the sincere

penitence I felt, and be governed by his advice. I did write, page

after page, and, sheet after sheet, till I had told the whole story.

I assured him every penny the bank or my bondsmen had lost should be

paid. I would give up everything I had.

I sent my long letter, with another from Lilian to her friends, by the

next mail, and anxiously waited a reply, which could not reach me under

three weeks.

_CHAPTER XXIV._

AUNT RACHEL’S WILL.

BOTH Lilian and myself were miserable while we waited for an answer

from Tom Flynn. I pictured to myself the surprise of the noble

fellow when he read my letter. I was not worthy of the disinterested

friendship he had extended to me, but I did not believe that he would

spurn me, as I deserved, in my guilt and shame.

We were tired of London, and rather to seek relief from the misery that

preyed upon us than to see the sights, we went over to Paris. There

was no peace for me in the gay capital, any more than in England, and

at the end of a fortnight we returned to London. I had written to Tom

that his answer would find me there. I wished him to inform me whether

I could safely return to Boston, for I wished to go there, settle up my

business, and then begin life anew in some part of the country where

I was not known. The future, therefore, was still a problem to me. My

first duty was to pay all that I owed the bank. With the ill-gotten

wealth I had with me, and with what Aunt Rachel had left me, if she had

left me anything, I should be able to discharge all my obligations.

I felt that I deserved a term in the State Prison, but I was not

willing to endure the penalty of my crime. I hoped that I might be

permitted to escape if I saved the bank from loss. This settlement was

now the question above all others with me, and I looked more earnestly

for an opportunity to restore my stolen plunder than I ever had to

obtain it. Perhaps if Lilian had not been possessed of my secret I

should have felt differently. As it was, she suffered not so much from

the fear of what the world would say, as from actual consciousness of

my guilt. She had vastly more of real principle than I ever gave her

credit for. I had measured her by the standard of her mother, rather

than her father. I could not persist in a crime which she so sincerely

condemned.

My wife saved me.

The misery which I had suffered before she knew of my guilt was the

fear of consequences, the fear of discovery. Her anguish rebuked me.

She loved me, even while she despised me for my sin. Day after day we

talked of the matter, and I was more and more impressed with the folly

and wickedness of my past conduct. A man is a fool to commit a crime.

The three weeks expired, and I looked for my letter from Tom Flynn.

It did not come, but I was willing to believe that there was some

unavoidable delay. Tom would certainly write. Another week elapsed. I

saw by the morning paper that the steamer had passed Cape Clear, and I

waited with intense anxiety for the arrival of the mail, which was due

in the evening. Lilian and I sat in the parlor awaiting the postman.

There was a knock at the door. The letter had come at last, and I

hastened to open the door.

Instead of a servant with the letter, at the door stood Tom Flynn!

“Paley, how are you?” exclaimed he, grasping both my hands.

The tears stood in my eyes, for it seemed like the days of innocence to

be thus warmly greeted by him. I could not speak. I threw myself on the

sofa and wept like a child.

“Lilian, how do you do?” cried Tom, entering the room, and grasping the

hand of my wife.

Poor Lilian! It was more than she could bear. She had no burden of

guilt on her pure soul, but she bore mine as though it had been her

own. She burst into tears, dropped into her chair, and covered her face

with her hands. She sobbed like an infant.

“Come, Paley, don’t take it too hardly,” said the generous Tom,

clapping me on the shoulder. “I received your letter, and of course I

know all about it.”

“Tom, I’m the most miserable fellow in the world,” I said, venturing to

look up at him.

“To be candid, Paley, I don’t wonder at it. You deserve it. But I

rejoice to know that you have come to take a right view of your past

conduct,” replied he, with the candor which always distinguished him.

“I deserve all the reproaches you can heap upon me. You need not spare

me, Tom.”

“It is not for me to reproach you, Paley; and I will not. I know how

much you must have suffered since you came to yourself.”

“You are pure-minded and innocent, Tom; and you can form no idea of it.”

“If you repent of your error, Paley—”

“I do repent, and I have asked my God to forgive me.”

“Give me your hand, Paley. Let us not say another word about it. All

shall yet be well with you, if you have made your peace with God,” said

Tom, as he took my hand and pressed it warmly.

“You are too kind, Tom.”

“But I am talking here while my wife is waiting for me,” added he.

“Your wife!”

“Yes,” replied he, with a smile which expressed the pleasure he felt at

being able to use the endearing term.

“Where is she?” asked Lilian.

“Down stairs; I will bring her up at once.”

“But stop, Tom,” interposed Lilian, with no little embarrassment in her

manner.

“What, Lilian?”

“Who is she?” asked my wife, timidly.

“Who is she?” exclaimed Tom, opening his eyes, and then laughing

merrily.

“It seems like an age since I left Boston, and I did not know but you

had changed your mind.”

“An age! Why, it is only three months. My wife, of course, is no other

than Bertha. We were talking seriously of marriage before you came

away. We had fixed the time when I received your letter, but we made it

two weeks earlier, so that we could take our bridal tour across the

Atlantic. I desired to see you because I could not write you what I

wanted to say.”

“You are more than a brother to me.”

“Wait till I bring Bertha up, before you say anything more. O, by the

way, she knows nothing at all about this affair with the bank. Don’t

say anything to her about it. It would only make her miserable for

nothing. Besides, everything is all right with you, Paley. It is, upon

my word.”

“How can we conceal it from her?” asked Lilian, as Tom left the room.

“We must do it, since he desires it,” I replied. “He says it is all

right with me, and if Bertha don’t know any thing about my conduct, I

suppose others do not.”

In a moment Tom appeared with his wife, who rushed into Lilian’s arms.

They kissed each other, and I think Bertha was the happiest being

I ever saw. My wife had not written anything about my crime to her

friends, because she feared to compromise me.

“Why didn’t you write to us before, Lilian?” demanded Bertha.

“I did, but my letters did not reach you, it seems,” replied my wife;

and I saw that she shuddered at the deception she was compelled to use.

“We thought you had gone to New Orleans.”

“No, we did not; but how is dear ma, and father and Ellen?”

“All very well; and very happy, after they had heard from you. You are

a rich man’s wife now, Lilian, and I hope—”

“Come, Paley, I must look after my luggage,” interposed Tom, who

evidently did not care to have me hear what his wife had to say.

I was somewhat astonished to hear Bertha call Lilian a rich man’s wife.

I could not fully comprehend it. I suppose from this that Aunt Rachel

had actually left me her property, as I had anticipated she would,

but the most that I had ever heard her rated at was thirty thousand

dollars, and according to the city standard, this would not make a very

rich man. I was willing to wait for an explanation, however, and I

followed Tom out of the room. We went down to the office, where rooms

for the newly married couple were secured near mine. The baggage was

sent up, and Tom and I took the parlor for a conference.

“I suppose you are anxious to know how your affairs stand in Boston,

Paley,” said my friend.

“I am only anxious to make my peace with God and man,” I replied,

earnestly. “I have sinned against God and man. I am a wretch.”

“That’s a fact, Paley; I can’t deny it. But repent and sin no more.”

“Tom, if it were not for my wife, I feel that I should be willing to

serve out my term in the State Prison. I feel that I have no right to

be exempted from the consequences of my crime; but Lilian would suffer

more than I should, if the law were to take its course.”

“Never mind the law. You must suffer the penalty of God’s law—you

need not fear man’s. When you left, Paley, I took your place. I soon

discovered what you had done to your books. I had nearly fainted away

when I found what you had been doing. There was a deficit of something

like twenty thousand dollars.”

“Just thirty-eight thousand, Tom,” I interposed.

“Then you were more ingenious than I took you to be,” added he, with

evident disgust.

“I am going to tell the truth.”

“Well, no one has investigated the matter very closely. Indeed, no one

knows anything about it but your uncle, Mr. Bristlebach, and myself;

not even the cashier.”

“That’s very strange,” I replied, wondering at the secrecy with which

the affair had been managed.

“I don’t know that it is. You wrote me that you had learned of your

aunt’s death. She died on the day after you left home. Your uncle

telegraphed to you in Albany, but was unable to ascertain where you

were. The funeral was deferred as long as possible for you, but you

did not return. Before your aunt was buried, I discovered what you had

been doing, and realized that you did not intend to return. I told your

uncle, and the president what I had ascertained, and we examined the

books. Captain Halliard cursed and swore like a madman, but after a

while he cooled off, and declared that the news would kill your mother.

“Mr. Bristlebach only added that the news would injure the bank, and it

would take a year to convince the public that it had lost only twenty

thousand dollars; for that was what the deficit appeared to be then,

though the rest of it would have soon become apparent, as the foreign

accounts were settled. It was therefore decided to say nothing about

it. After your aunt’s funeral, Squire—an old lawyer in Court Street, I

forget his name—”

“Squire Townsend.”

“Squire Townsend came to the bank and told your uncle he had your

aunt’s will, and that, after paying out a few small legacies, her

property was all left to you. This information settled the matter.

If you had property enough, the bank would lose nothing by you. Your

disappearance called forth a paragraph or two in the papers, but Mr.

Bristlebach caused others to be inserted to the effect that the bank

would not lose a dollar by your absence.”

“I saw all these items.”

“So you wrote me. Now, Paley, how much do you suppose your aunt left?”

“I don’t know. People used to say she was worth about twenty thousand

dollars, but finally the sum got up to thirty thousand,” I replied.

“Both were below the fact. Her inventory amounts to over fifty

thousand. They say she had twenty thousand more than fifteen years ago.

She has never spent much of anything, and her stocks paid her from six

to twenty per cent. In a word, Paley, you are a rich man.”

I was astonished at this information, and more than ever conscious of

the folly of my past conduct.

“You can return to Boston, and if any body ever suspected that you

were a defaulter, your money will cover up the error.”

“I don’t deserve this good fortune, Tom.”

“That’s very true,” replied Tom, drily. “If you are honest and true,

you may enjoy it. I hope it will not undo your reformation.”

“It will not, Tom,” I added, solemnly. “I am grateful to God for His

mercy in sparing me from the consequences of my errors; and I promise

you that I will try to be faithful to Him and to my fellow-creatures.”

Before I could fully comprehend his purpose, Tom had gently drawn me

upon my knees at his side, on the floor, and there he prayed for me

more earnestly than I could have uttered the petition for myself. I

felt better. The prayer did me good. We talked for half an hour of the

religious aspect of my case, and I came to believe that I was a true

convert.

“How did they explain my absence?” I asked, as we rose to join our

wives.

“Your wife’s mother said you had gone to New Orleans to take a

situation in a banking office. Your uncle sent a messenger there to

find you. We all supposed you were there till I received your letter.

I showed it to Captain Halliard, and explained my plan to him. He

approved it, for the executor is waiting for you to claim your aunt’s

property.”

“I must return immediately.”

“No; I am going to stay over here two or three months, for I have given

up my place in the bank.”

“What is that for?”

“I have a chance to go into business in the spring. My old employer

in the dry goods business wants to sell out to me for forty thousand

dollars. If you will go in with me, with a part of your capital, we can

make a good thing of it.”

“Will you trust me, Tom?” I inquired, wondering at the confidence he

proposed to give me, after what I had done.

“Paley, I believe your repentance is sincere; and believing so, I think

you are not so likely to go astray as you would be if you had had no

bitter experience to remind you that the way of the transgressor is

hard.”

“I hope to prove worthy of your confidence and regard, Tom.” I replied,

clasping his hand. “I shall be glad to go into business with you.”

“In the spring, then, we will do so. Now I am over here, I mean to see

something of Europe. You must write to your uncle, stating the amount

of the deficit. Give him a draft on Mr. Townsend, who is your aunt’s

executor, for the whole sum. Write to the executor yourself, also,

directing him to take care of the balance till your return.”

“I have about the value of thirty thousand dollars with me,” I added,

with a blush, as I thought of the means by which I had obtained it.

After this conference I felt more cheerful than for months before. I

realized that Tom’s earnest prayer for me had been heard, and that God

had forgiven my great sin. I pledged myself anew to be faithful. I

trembled when I thought that, if my aunt’s dying bounty had not been

interposed to save me, I might have spent a portion of my life in

prison. Truly, I had every thing to be grateful for. When, after Tom

and Bertha had retired, I told Lilian what had passed between my friend

and myself, she wept tears of joy and gratitude.

My story is told. We travelled in Europe till the end of February, and

then sailed from Cadiz to Havana, and thence proceeded to New Orleans.

I wrote to my uncle, and sent him the requisite papers to adjust my

accounts. He replied to me in a very good-natured strain, for to him

crime undiscovered was no crime at all. I wrote to my mother, also.

I could not wound her with the terrible truth, and therefore did not

allude to the reasons for my leaving Boston.

When we got home, we were warmly welcomed by all our friends. I was

regarded as a rich man, for a young one, and people were not disposed

to ask hard questions. I do not think my mother was ever fully

satisfied as to the reason of my leaving Boston so suddenly, but she

did not press me for an explanation.

Tom and I went into business in the spring. After paying every dollar

I owed, I had about forty thousand dollars. My partner put in twenty

thousand dollars, and I the same. We are doing well, and both of us

stand well in the community. Mr. Bristlebach is dead, and my uncle

still keeps my secret.

I bought a house similar to the one I had occupied for so brief a

period in Needham Street, and our home was all that peace, plenty and

grateful hearts could make it.

I do not yet feel like an innocent man; I can never feel so. I shall

regret and repent my sin to the end of my life. But I appreciate all my

blessings, not the least of which is my wife, who has been my guardian

angel since the day that her horror of my crime assured me of the

reality of truth and goodness.

I am trying, by every means in my power, to atone for my error, for

which a lifetime is no more than sufficient. I was not inclined to evil

by nature or by education, and, I still feel that my crime was the

legitimate result of LIVING TOO FAST.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:

—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.