"I did not think you really loved me then," she said. "I thought it was just a passing fancy."

"You see it was not, dear. All these months that I have worked hard, it was partly from the love of art and with the hope that I might be a really great artist, but at the bottom of it all along has been the thought of you and the determination that in one respect I would become worthy of you."

"Don't talk like that, Cuthbert. I know now that I was a headstrong, conceited girl, thinking I was strong when I was as weak as water. You were right when you said I was not yet a woman, for I had never found that I had a heart. It is I who am unworthy."

"Well, it is no question of worthiness now. The question is do you love me as I love you."

"Are you sure you do, Cuthbert? I have thought all these months that you had taken me at my word, and that it was but as a friend you regarded me. Are you sure it is not gratitude for what little I did for you in the hospital! Still more that it is not because I showed my feelings so plainly the day before yesterday, and that it is from pity as well as gratitude that you speak now."

"Then you were really a little jealous, Mary?"

"You know I was. It was shameful of me to show it, so shameful that I have hated myself since. I know that after doing so, I ought to say no—no a thousand times. I love you, Cuthbert, I love you; but I would rather never marry you than feel it was out of pity that you took me. That would be too hard to bear."

They were both standing now.

"You are talking nonsense, child," he said, tenderly, as he took her hand. "You know I love you truly. Surely my pictures must have told you that. Honestly now, did you not feel that it was so?"

"I did not know you loved me then, Cuthbert. There were other things, you know, that made me feel it could not be so, but then that for the first time I really knew——" and she stopped.

"That you loved me, darling?" and he drew her closer to him. "Now, you gave me a straightforward answer before—I insist on as straightforward a one now."

And this time the answer was not, No.

"Mind," he said a few minutes afterwards, "your vocation is definitely fixed at last, Mary, and there must be no more changing."

"As if you did not know there won't be," she said, saucily. And then suddenly altering her tone she went on, "Now, Cuthbert, you will surely tell me what you would not before. What did you find out? It is something about my father, I am sure."

"Let me think before I answer you," he said, and then sat silent for two or three minutes. "Well," he said, at last, "I think you have a right to know. You may be sure that in any case I should before, for your sake, have done everything in my power towards arranging things amicably with him. Now, of course, that feeling is vastly stronger, and for my own sake as well as yours I should abstain from any action against him. Mind, at present I have only vague suspicions, but if those suspicions turn out true, it will be evident that your father has been pursuing a very tortuous policy, to put it no stronger, in order to gain possession of Fairclose. I cannot say definitely as yet what I shall do, but at present I incline to the opinion that I shall drop the matter altogether."

"Not for my sake, Cuthbert," she said, firmly. "I have always felt uneasy about it. I can scarcely say why, but I am afraid it is so. Of course I know my father better than people in general do. I have known that he was not what he seemed to be. It has always been my sorest trouble, that we have never got on well together. He has never liked me, and I have not been able to respect him. I know that if he has done anything absolutely wrong—it seems terrible that I should even think such a thing possible—but if it has been so—I know you will not expose him."

"We will not talk any more about it, dear," Cuthbert interrupted; "it is all the vaguest suspicion, so let us put it aside altogether now. Just at present I am a great deal too happy to give as much as a thought to unpleasant matters. We have to attend to the business of the hour, and you have the two years of love of which I have been deprived to make up for."

"I am very, very glad, Cuthbert, that I was not in love with you then."

"Why?"

"Because we should have started all wrong. I don't think I should ever have come to look up to you and honor you as I do now. I should never have been cured of my silly ideas, and might even have thought that I had made some sort of sacrifice in giving up my plans. Besides, then you were what people call a good match, and now no one can think that it is not for love only."

"Well, at any rate, Mary, we shall have between us enough to keep us out of the workhouse even if I turn out an absolute failure."

"You know you won't do that."

"I hope not, but at any rate one is liable to illness, to loss of sight, and all sorts of other things, and as we have between us four hundred a year we can manage very comfortably, even if I come to an end of my ardor for work and take to idleness again."

"I am not afraid of that," she smiled, "after painting those two pictures, you could not stop painting. I don't think when anyone can do good work of any sort, he can get tired of it, especially when the work is art. My only fear is that I shan't get my fair share of your time."

"Well, if I see you getting jealous, Mary, I have the means of reducing you to silence by a word."

"Have you, indeed? Will you please tell me what word is that?"

"I shall just say, Minette!"

Mary's color flamed up instantly.

"If you do, sir; if you do——" and then stopped.

"Something terrible will come of it, eh. Well, it was not fair."

"It was quite fair, Cuthbert. It will always be a painful recollection to me, and I hope a lesson too."

"It will not be a painful recollection to me," he laughed. "I think I owe Minette a debt of gratitude. Now, what do you say to taking a drive, Mary? Horse-flesh has gone down five hundred per cent. in the market in the last three days, and I was able to get a fiacre on quite reasonable terms."

"Is it waiting here still? How extravagant, Cuthbert, it must have been here nearly an hour."

"I should say I have been here over two hours and a quarter according to that clock."

"Dear me, what will Madame Michaud think? Shall I tell her, Cuthbert?"

"I don't care a snap what she thinks. You can do just as you like about telling her. Perhaps it will be as well, as I intend to see a good deal of you in the next few days. But if you write home don't say anything about it. There are reasons which we can talk over another time, why it will be best to keep it to ourselves for a time."

Mary nodded. That he wished a thing was quite sufficient for her at the present moment.

"Do you want me to go out with you?" she asked.

"Just as you like. I believe that as a rule a ring has to be purchased at the conclusion of an arrangement such as we have just entered into, and I thought you might just as well chose one yourself."

"Oh, I would much rather not," she exclaimed, "and besides, I think for to-day I would rather sit quiet and think it all over and realize how happy I am."

"Well, for to-day you shall have your own way, Mary, but you have been doing a good deal more thinking than is good for you, and after to-day we must go out for a good walk regularly. You see we have both to get up our strength. I had quite forgotten I had anything the matter with me, and you only wanted rousing, dear. The doctor said as much to me, and you know, after all, happiness is the best tonic."

"Then I must be perfectly cured already, Cuthbert, but remember you must take care of yourself. The best of tonics won't set any one up at once who has had a real illness as you have had. You want something more substantial. Good strong soups and roast beef are the essentials in your case. Remember, sir, I have been your nurse and mean to continue so till your cure is complete. You will come again to-morrow, Cuthbert?"

"Of course, dear. Now about that ring. I have observed you never wear one. Have you one you can lend me, or must I measure with a piece of thread?"

"I will get you one, Cuthbert. I am not without such a possession although I have never worn one. I looked upon it as a female vanity," she added, with a laugh, "in the days when I thought myself above such things. What a little fool you must have thought me, Cuthbert?"

The next morning when Cuthbert came Mary had her things on in readiness to go out with him, and after a short delay to admire and try on the ring, they set out together.

"I did not tell you yesterday, Mary," Cuthbert said, after they had walked a short distance, "that as soon as the arrangements for foreigners to leave the town are settled, I am going to Brussels with Cumming. He is going to make an affidavit, and this he cannot do here, as, if I should have occasion to use the document, it would be the means of enabling the police to trace him here and to demand his extradition. After that I shall go on to England to make some inquiries that are essential. I will give you all particulars if you wish it, but I think it will be very much better that you shall know nothing about the matter; it may turn out to be nothing at all; it may on the other hand be extremely important. It is a painful business anyhow, but in any case I think it will be much the best that you should know nothing about it. You can trust me, can you not?"

"Altogether," she said, "and certainly I would rather know nothing about it. But mind, Cuthbert, you must do what you think is right and best without any question about me. If you have been wronged you must right yourself, and I am sure that in doing so you will do it as gently and kindly as possible."

"I will try to do so," he said. "At present, as I told you, the suspicions are very vague and rest entirely upon the statement Cumming has made. If those suspicions should be verified, a great wrong has been done and that wrong must be righted, but that can no doubt be arranged without publicity or scandal. The reason why I do not wish you to say a word about our engagement is, that were it known it would tie my hands terribly and render it so impossible for me to take any strong ground, that I should be altogether powerless."

"Do entirely as you think best, Cuthbert. Of course, beyond the fact that perhaps something wrong may have been done, I have not an idea what it can be, and I do not want to know, unless it must be told me. How long are you likely to be away and do you think you are fit to travel?"

"There is no great fatigue in travelling," he said. "I can't say how long I shall be, not long I hope. You may be sure that I shall not be longer than I can possibly help."

"I shall miss you dreadfully, but of course if you think it necessary, you must go. Besides," she said, saucily, "if you are in no hurry about me I know you will be anxious to get back to finish your pictures. No, Cuthbert, I really can't have that. There are people in sight."

"I don't care if there are," he laughed.

"I do, very much. Whoever heard of such a thing? What would they think of me?"

"I did not know that you cared what people thought of you, Mary."

"Not about some things, perhaps, but there are limits, you know."

A week later, duly provided with passes, Cuthbert and Cumming made their way in a carriage to the Belgian frontier, and then went on by train to Brussels, where, on the day after their arrival, Cumming drew up and signed a statement with reference to the details of his transference of the shares to Mr. Hartington, and swore to its contents before a Belgian legal official.

"I shall stay here for a few days," he said to Cuthbert, as the latter started the next morning for England. "I am quite safe for the present, and after a long course of horse-flesh I really cannot tear myself away from decent living, until Paris is re-victualled, and one can live there in comfort again. I wish you every success in your search. The more I think of it the more convinced I am that we are not far wrong as to the manner in which Brander has got hold of your estate."

Cuthbert, on arriving in London, took up his quarters at the Charing Cross Hotel. On the morning after his arrival he wrote a letter to Dr. Edwardes, at Abchester.

"MY DEAR DOCTOR,—I have just returned from Paris, where I have been shut up for the last four months. I do not care about coming down to Abchester at present. I suppose I have not quite got over my soreness over matters in general, but for reasons which I need not enter into, I want to know if Brander's clerks, who were with him when I was last there, are still with him in his office, and, if not, where they are employed. I do not know anyone else to write to on the subject, and I am sure you will not mind taking the trouble in the matter for me."

The answer came back by return of post.

"MY DEAR CUTHBERT—I was very glad to hear of you again. I have asked Brander from time to time about you, and he always says that he has not heard from you for months, and though your letter says nothing beyond the fact that you are alive, I was glad to get it. I hope next time you write you will give me full details about yourself, and that ere long you will make up your mind to come down. I need not say that we shall be delighted to put you up when you do come. I should imagine you would not care to go to Fairclose. Now as to your question. Harford, the elder of the two clerks, left the office here very shortly after you went away. Levison, the younger, is still here. I put myself in the way of meeting him as he went to the office this morning. I stopped and chatted with him for a minute or two, and asked him carelessly how Mr. Harford was and whether he ever heard from him. He said he heard occasionally and that he was well. 'By the way, where is he working now?' I asked, 'I know he went up to a firm in town.' 'Oh, yes, he is with Barrington and Smiles, of Essex Street. He is getting on very well there, I believe. He is head of their conveyancing branch. I wish I could drop into as good a billet, Doctor. I should be very glad of a change.' So much for that business. Things are getting on pretty much the same up at the old place. Brander still comes up to his office for an hour or so every day. I don't think he cares much for the county gentleman's life. I fancy Mrs. B. is rather a disappointed woman. The fact is there was a good deal of feeling in the county as to Brander's connection with the bank. Almost everyone was let in more or less, you know, for the depositors have only got eight shillings in the pound so far, and I don't suppose they will ever get much more. There is an idea that Brander ought to have found out what was going on, and indeed that he must have known a good deal about it, and that at any rate what he did know should have been ample to have rendered it his duty to warn your father against taking shares so short a time before the smash. His purchase of Fairclose did not improve matters, and so far from their taking your father's place in the county, I may say without being absolutely cut they are much more out of it than they were before. However, when you come down I will give you all the local gossip."

It was late in the afternoon when Cuthbert received the letter and he at once went to Essex Street. Several clerks were writing in the office. A lad came forward to ask him his business.

"I want to speak for a moment to Mr. Harford."

The lad went up to one of the desks and the clerk came forward.

"I don't know whether you remember me," Cuthbert said, "my name is Hartington."

"I remember you very well, Mr. Hartington, though you are changed a good deal."

"I have had a sharp illness, but I am getting over it now. I particularly wished to speak to you about a matter in connection with my father's affairs. I am staying at the Charing Cross Hotel and should feel very much obliged if, when you leave here, you would come round for a few minutes."

"With pleasure, sir, but I shall not get away till seven."

"That will do very well," Cuthbert said. "I would not have troubled you had it not been important."

A few minutes past seven the clerk was shown into Cuthbert's room. After asking him to take a chair Cuthbert said—

"As you are aware, Mr. Harford, my loss of the Fairclose estates arose from the unfortunate circumstances of my father having taken a few shares in the Abchester and County Bank. The matter has always been a puzzle to me. I have been abroad for the last eighteen months, and now, having returned, am anxious to get to the bottom of the matter if I can. The transfer of the shares from Cumming, the manager of the bank, to my father, was signed at Mr. Brander's office, I fancy. At any rate, you and Mr. Levison were the attesting witnesses to my father's signature. Have you any memory of the transaction, and would you object to tell what took place?"

"I remember about the transfer, Mr. Hartington, because, when the crash came, everything connected with it was talked over. In point of fact, we did not see Mr. Hartington's signature actually attached. He called at the office one day, and just after he had left Mr. Brander called us in and said, 'Please witness Mr. Hartington's signature.' Of course, we both knew it very well and witnessed it. I did not notice the names on the body of the transfer, though, of course, I knew from the appearance of the document what it was, but Mr. Brander just pointed out where we were to sign and we signed. The only thing I noticed was that as I wrote my eye fell on the top line, and I saw that it was dated ten days earlier."

"Was that unusual?"

"No, documents are often dated at the time they are drawn up, although they may not be signed for some days later. Of course it is not exactly regular, but it often happens. A form is filled up and one or other of the parties may be away or unable to sign. I happened to notice it, but it did not strike me in any way."

"And were you often called upon to attest signatures in this way without seeing them written?"

"There was nothing unusual in it. As a general rule we were called into the room when a signature had to be witnessed, but it occasionally happened, in the case where it was a well-known client and we were perfectly acquainted with the signature, that we did not sign until he had left the office."

"Do you remember if such a thing ever happened any other time in the case of my father!"

"Only once, I think, and that was afterwards. We signed then as witnesses to his signature to a legal document. I don't know what its nature was. It was done in the same manner directly Mr. Hartington had driven away."

"It might have been a mortgage deed."

"It might have been, sir, but as I saw only the last page of it, and as there were but three or four lines of writing at the top of the page, followed by the signatures, I have no idea even of the nature of the document."

"May I ask if you have left the office at Abchester on pleasant terms with Mr. Brander and his partner, for, of course, you know that he still takes an interest in the firm."

"Oh, yes, it is still carried on as Brander and Jackson, and Brander still goes down there for an hour or two every day. Yes, I left on pleasant terms enough, that is to say, I left of my own free will. I had for some time wished to come up to London, and hearing through a friend in this office of a vacancy at Barrington and Smiles, I applied and was fortunate enough to get it."

Cuthbert sat silent for a time. So far the answers he had received tallied precisely with Cumming's theory. He did not see how he could carry the inquiry farther here at present. The clerk, who was watching him closely, was the first to speak.

"I own, Mr. Hartington, that I do not in the slightest degree understand the gist of your questions, but I can well imagine that at the present moment you are wondering whether it would be safe to ask farther. I will, therefore, tell you at once that one of my reasons for leaving Mr. Brander's employment was that I did not like his way of doing business, nor did I like the man himself. The general opinion of him was that he was a public-spirited and kind-hearted man. I can only say that our opinion of him in the office was a very different one. He was a hard man, and frequently when pretending to be most lenient to tenants on the estates to which he was agent, or to men on whose lands he held mortgages, he strained the law to its utmost limits. I will not say more than that, but I could quote cases in which he put on the screw in a way that was to my mind most absolutely unjustifiable, and I had been for a very long time trying to get out of his office before the opportunity came. I may also say, Mr. Hartington, that I had the highest respect for your father. He always had a kind word when he came into the office, and regularly at Christmas he handed Levison and myself a check for ten pounds each, for, as he said, the trouble his business gave us. I tell you this in order that you may feel you can safely repose any confidence in me, and that my advice will be wholly at your service if you should think fit to give me your confidence in this matter, whatever it may be. But at the same time I must say it would be still better if you put yourself in the hands of some respectable firm of solicitors. I do not suggest my own principals more than others, although few men stand higher in the profession."

"There are reasons against my laying the matter before any firm of solicitors, and the chief of these is that my hands are tied in a peculiar manner, and that I am unable to carry it through to its natural sequence, but I will very thankfully accept your offer and will frankly tell you the nature of my suspicions, for they are nothing more than suspicions. I may first say that the news that my father was a shareholder in the Abchester Bank astounded me. For a time, I put it down to one of those sudden impulses that are unaccountable, but I may tell you, and here my confidence begins, that I have come across Cumming, the bank manager, and from him have obtained some curious particulars of this transaction—particulars that have excited my suspicions.

"You wondered why I asked you those questions. I will tell you. You did not see my father affix his signature to either of those documents. The one being certainly the transfer of some of Cumming's shares to him. The other being, as I believe, the mortgage that, as you doubtless heard, Mr. Brander held over my father's estate. How could you tell those two signatures were not clever forgeries?"

Mr. Harford gave a start of surprise.

"God bless me, sir," he exclaimed, "such an idea never entered my mind."

"That I can quite understand," Cuthbert said, quietly, "but you must admit it is possible."

"But in that case," the clerk said, after a pause, "Brander himself must have been the forger, and surely that is not possible. I fancy I know Mr. Brander pretty well, but I should never have dreamt him capable of forgery. Not because I have a high opinion of his honesty, but because I believe him to be a cautious man, and besides I do not see what possible interest he could have had in ruining your father by putting his name on to the register of shareholders. Even if he had an interest in so doing the risk of detection would be frightful, for not only would the matter be known to the directors, but, as you are aware, any shareholder has a right on the payment of a nominal fee to inspect the list of shareholders."

"Precautions were taken against this," Cuthbert said. "Just glance through this paper, which has been signed and sworn to by Cumming in proper form at Brussels."

Mr. Harford ran his eye over the document and then read it through carefully word by word.

"This is an extraordinary statement," he said, gravely, "do you believe it, Mr. Hartington?"

"I believe it implicitly. I had the man practically at my mercy. As you know, there is a warrant out for his arrest and a word from me would have set the police on his track and led to an application for his extradition. Therefore he had every motive for telling me the truth, and I am as certain as I can be, that he did so."

"If so there can be no question that Mr. Brander had some very strong reason indeed for preventing the knowledge of this transfer having ever been made from being known; but in any case it must have come out when the bank failed and of course he must have had a pretty accurate knowledge of the state of its affairs."

"Yes, but it man be that he had an equally accurate knowledge of the state of my father's health. That would account for what Cumming says as to his offer to bolster up the bank for a time, and for a retraction of that offer within a few days after my father's death."

"But why on earth should he have run all this risk merely to ruin you? He had no cause of enmity against you, had he, sir?"

"None, so far as I knew but now we come to the other document where you witnessed the signature without having seen it signed. If the signature on the transfer was a forgery, why not that on the mortgage, if it was the mortgage. If so you see the motive of the transfer. The smash of the bank brought a good many estates into the market and they would consequently go cheap. Not only would he get it far below its value, but by reason of this pretended mortgage he would get a further drawback of L15,000 from the price he would pay as its purchase."

"Good heavens, Mr. Hartington! You take my breath away! Have you any reason whatever for believing that the mortgage was a bogus one?"

"None, beyond the fact that I was ignorant of its existence. I was so surprised that I not only wrote to Brander himself but to the official liquidator. The former said he had advanced the money at the urgent request of my father, who told him he wished to settle a very long standing claim upon him, and that he desired that the transaction should be kept an absolute secret. The official liquidator said he had gone carefully into the question of the mortgage, that it was of three years, standing, that the receipts Mr. Brander had given my father for the half-yearly interest on the money had been found among my father's papers, and that Brander had moreover produced a document, showing that he had sold securities to that amount, and had drawn the money from his bankers in town by a singled check for L15,000. Do you remember whether such a deed was ever drawn up in the office?"

"Certainly it was not, but you see that proves nothing, for it was to be kept a secret. Brander might have had it drawn up by some solicitor in London."

"I see that. Well, then, this deed, whatever it was that you witnessed, was that drawn up in the office?"

"No. I remember Levison and I talked it over and said it was curious that a deed between Brander and Mr. Hartington should not have been given to us as usual to be drawn up."

"You witnessed his signature then as well as that of my father?"

"Yes, I have a particular reason for remembering that, for I had sat down hurriedly after he had signed it, and dipping my pen too deeply in the ink, made a blot. It was no doubt a stupid thing to do, but Brander was so unreasonably angry about it, and blew me up so roughly that I made up my mind there and then to stand it no longer, and wrote that very evening to my friend in my present office the letter which led to my getting the situation there two or three months later."

"That blot may be a most important one," Cuthbert said, "if it occurs on the mortgage deed on Fairclose, it is clear that document was not, as it professes on its face, executed three years earlier."

"That would be so indeed," Mr. Harford exclaimed, excitedly; "it would be a piece of evidence there would be no getting over, and that fact would account for Brander's anger, which seemed to me was out of all proportion to the accident. If you could show that the mortgage deed on which Brander claimed is really that document we witnessed, it would be all up with him. As to the receipts for the payments of interest they proved nothing as they were, of course, in Brander's own handwriting and were found where he put them. If you could find out that Brander had knowledge of Mr. Hartington's state of health about the time that transfer was produced you would strengthen your case. It seems to me that he must have got an inkling of it just before he filled up the transfer, and that he ante-dated it a week so that it would appear to have been signed before he learnt about his illness. I can see no other reason for the ante-dating it."

"That may have been the reason," Cuthbert agreed. "It was one of the points for which Cumming and I, talking it over, could see no motive. Certainly he would wish that if anyone said to him you ought to have prevented Mr. Hartington buying those shares when you knew that he was in a precarious state of health, to be able to reply that when the shares were bought he had not the slightest idea of his being in anything but the best of health."

"At any rate I will see Dr. Edwardes, and ascertain exactly when he did tell Brander. He is certain to be able by turning back to his visiting book, to ascertain when he himself became aware of my father's danger, and is likely to remember whether he told Brander at once."

"But even without that, Mr. Hartington, if you can prove that question of the date of the deed you have him completely on the hip. Still it will be a very difficult case to carry through, especially if you cannot get Cumming to come into court."

"But, as I began by telling you, I cannot carry out the case to a legitimate conclusion, nor do I want the intervention of lawyers in the matter. I want the estate back again if I can get it, but rather than this matter should be made public I would not lift a little finger to regain the property. It happens," and he smiled dryly, "that Mr. Brander's reputation is almost as dear to me as it is to him, for I am going to marry his daughter. We should not feel quite comfortable together, you see, at the thought that the father was working out a sentence of penal servitude."

"That is an unfortunate combination indeed, Mr. Hartington," Mr. Harford said seriously, though he could not repress a smile of amusement at the unexpected news. "Then it seems to me, sir, that Brander may in fact snap his fingers at any threat you may hold out, for he would feel certain that you would never take any steps that would make the matter public."

"Fortunately," Cuthbert replied. "Mr. Brander is wholly unaware of the little fact I have mentioned, and is likely to remain so until matters are finally arranged between us."

"That is indeed fortunate. Then I understand, Mr. Hartington, your object is to obtain so strong a proof of Brander's share in this affair as will place you in a position to go down to him, and force him into some satisfactory arrangement with you."

"That is it, and it is clear the first step will be to see the official liquidator and to obtain a sight of the mortgage."

"I suppose you know that he is the head of the firm of Cox, Tuke, and Atkinson, in Coleman Street. I suggest that the best plan will be to see him to-morrow, and to make an appointment with him for you to inspect the mortgage. You would wish me, of course, to be with you when you do so?"

"Think you very much. I will go round there in the morning, and will call at your office afterwards and let you know if I have arranged the matter, and the time at which I am to call to inspect the mortgage."



CHAPTER XIX.

Cuthbert, on calling upon the head of the great firm of accountants, was courteously received by him.

"Of course, I remember your name, Mr. Hartington, with reference to the Abchester Bank failure. It seemed a particularly hard case, and I know our Mr. Wanklyn, who had charge of the winding up, took particular interest in it, and personally consulted me more than once about it, though I cannot exactly recall the circumstances now. What is it that you say you want to examine?"

"I want to have a look at the deed of mortgage that Mr. Brander, who purchased the property, had upon it."

"Yes, I remember now, that was one of the points on which Mr. Wanklyn consulted me. It struck him at first sight as being rather a remarkable transaction, and he went into it carefully, but it was all proved to be correct to his satisfaction. It is unfortunate that the system of registering mortgages is not enforced everywhere as it is in London—it would save a great deal of trouble in such cases as the present."

"Are the affairs of the bank quite wound up?"

"Dear me, no, Mr. Hartington. Why, it is but two years since the failure. There are properties to be realized that cannot be forced on the market without ruinous loss. There are assets which will not be available until after death; it is not the assets of the bank, but the assets of individual shareholders and debtors of the bank that have to be collected. I should say it will be at least twenty years before the last dividend will be divided. I am sure Mr. Wanklyn will be happy to let you see any document you desire. I will take you to him."

Mr. Wanklyn had a room on the same floor with his principal, and Mr. Cox took Cuthbert and introduced him to him.

"Mr. Hartington wants to have a look at the mortgage that Brander held on the late Mr. Hartington's estate. You remember we had several talks about it at the time, and you took a good deal of pains about the matter. Mr. Hartington wrote to me about it from Paris, if you recollect, and you replied to him in my name. I will leave him with you to talk it over."

"Have you any particular reason for wanting to see the deed, Mr. Hartington?" the accountant asked, when Mr. Cox had left the room. "I only ask because I suppose the documents connected with the winding up of the bank must weigh several tons, and it will take a considerable time for a clerk to hunt out the one in question. If you have really any motive for examining it I will get it looked out for you by to-morrow, but it will put us to a great deal of trouble."

"I am really anxious to see it for a special purpose, Mr. Wanklyn. I have reason to believe there was some irregularity in the matter."

"I am afraid it will make but little difference to you whether it was so or not, Mr. Hartington. The creditors of the bank have been the sufferers if there was any irregularity in it."

"Yes, I suppose so, and yet I assure you it is not a mere matter of sentiment with me. Other questions might turn upon it."

"Then I will certainly have it ready for you by to-morrow—give me until the afternoon. Will four o'clock suit you?"

"Very well. I will, with your permission, bring with me one of the attesting witnesses to my father's signature. He was one of Mr. Brander's clerks at the time."

Mr. Wanklyn looked up keenly.

"You can bring whom you like," he said, after a pause, "and I will put a room at your disposal, but of course the document cannot be taken away."

"Certainly not, Mr. Wanklyn, and I am very much obliged to you for granting my request."

Cuthbert called for James Harford at the hour at which he had said he went out to lunch, and told him of the appointment he had made.

"I have been thinking it over, Mr. Hartington, and I should recommend you to bring Cooper with you."

"Who is Cooper?"

"He is one of our greatest experts on handwriting. I don't know whether you have any of your father's letters in your possession."

"Yes, I have several. I brought over the last two I had from him, thinking they might be useful."

"Well, his opinion on the signatures may be valuable, though as a rule experts differ so absolutely that their evidence is always taken with considerable doubt, but it is part of his business to look out for erasures and alterations. It is quite possible Brander may have removed that blot, and that he has done it so well that neither you nor I could detect it; but whether he did it with a knife or chemicals you may be sure that Cooper will be able to spot it, whichever he used. I have very little doubt that your suspicions are correct and those parchments were really the pretended mortgage deeds. If you like I will go round and see Cooper at once and arrange for him to meet us in Coleman Street to-morrow at four o'clock."

"Thank you very much. The idea of the blot being erased had never struck me."

The next day Cuthbert met James Harford and Mr. Cooper at the door of the accountants, and after being introduced by the clerk to the expert they went up together. On giving his name in the office a clerk came across to him.

"If you will come with me, gentlemen, I will lead you to the room that is ready for you. This is the document that you desire to see."

As soon as they were alone they sat down at the table, and opened the deed.

"How is it for size?" Cuthbert asked.

"It is about the same size, but that is nothing. All deeds are on two or three sizes of parchment. The last page is the thing."

Cuthbert turned to it. There were but four lines of writing at the top of the page, and below these came the signatures.

"Of course I could not swear to it, Mr. Hartington, but it is precisely in accordance with my recollection. There were either three, four, or five lines at the top. Certainly not more than five, certainly not less than three. As you see there is no blot to my signature. Now, Mr. Cooper, will you be kind enough to compare the signatures of these two letters with the same name there?"

Mr. Cooper took the letter and deed to a desk by the window, examined them carefully, then took out a large magnifying glass from his pocket, and again examined them.

"I should say they are certainly not by the same hand," he said, decisively. "I do not call them even good imitations. They are nothing like as good as would be made by any expert in signing other people's names. The tail of the 'J' in James in these two letters runs up into the 'a' but as you will notice the pen is taken off and the letter 'a' starts afresh. Here on the contrary you see the pen has not been taken off, but the upstroke of the 'J' runs on continuously into the 'a.' More naturally it would be just the other way. In these two letters the writer would be signing his name more hurriedly than to a formal deed, and would be much more likely to run his letters into each other than when making a formal signature on parchment.

"Looking through this glass you will observe also that although the letters run on together there is a slight thickening in the upstroke between each letter as if the writer had paused, though without taking his pen off, to examine the exact method of making the next letter in a copy lying before him. In the surname there are half a dozen points of difference. To begin with, the whole writing slopes less than in the other signatures. In both your father's letters the cross of the first 't' is much lower than usual and almost touches the top of the 'r' and i.' The same peculiarity is shown in the second 't' in both letters, while on the deed the 't's' are crossed a good deal higher. The whole word is more cramped, the flourish at the end of the 'n' is longer but less free. In the capital letter, the two downstrokes are a good deal closer together. There has been the same pause between each letter as those I pointed out in the Christian name, and indeed the glass shows you the pen was altogether taken off the paper between the 'o' and the 'n,' as the writer studied that final flourish. My opinion is that it is not only a forgery but a clumsy one, and would be detected at once by anyone who had the original signatures before him. I will even go so far as to say that I doubt if any bank clerk well acquainted with Mr. Hartington's signature would pass it."

"And now for the blot," Cuthbert said. "There was a blot somewhere near the signature of Mr. Harford."

"Don't tell me where it was, Mr. Harford. I would rather not know its exact position."

With the aid of the magnifying glass the expert carefully examined the parchment and then held it up to the light.

"The blot was in the middle of the signature and involved the letters 'a' and 'r.' Is that right?"

"That is right, Mr. Cooper; he used blotting paper to it at once, and it did not show up very strongly."

"An eraser has been used and a chemical of some sort, and the two letters involved in the blot have been re-written, or at any rate touched up, but they have run a little. You can see it quite plainly through this lens. The difference between their outline and that of the other letters is quite distinct, and by holding the parchment so that the light falls across it, you can see that, although it has been rubbed, probably by the handle of a penknife to give it a gloss, the difference between that gloss and the rest of the surface, is distinctly visible."

"I see that," the clerk said, "and I should be quite prepared to swear now, Mr. Hartington, that this is the document I signed some three weeks after I signed as witness to the transfer."

"That is quite good enough, I think," Cuthbert said. "Thank you, Mr. Cooper, you have quite settled the doubt I had in my mind. I do not think I shall have occasion to ask you to go into court over this matter, but should I have to do so I will, of course, give you due notice."

After paying the expert's fee Cuthbert went into the office and handed the document over to the clerk from whom he had received it.

"Would you kindly put it where it can be got at easily should it be wanted again. It is of the highest importance."

After parting with Mr. Cooper at the door, Cuthbert walked westward with Mr. Harford.

"So far you have proved that your suspicions are correct, sir, and I have not the least doubt that your father's signature to the transfer was, like this, a forgery. May I ask what step you propose to take next? Of course if your object was not to prevent publicity your course would be clear. You would first apply for a warrant for the arrest of Brander on a charge of double forgery. When that was proved, you would have to take steps to apply to have it declared that your father's name was wrongfully placed among the shareholders of the bank, and then endeavor to obtain a decree ordering the liquidator to reimburse the proceeds of the sale of the estate and all other moneys received by him from your father's executor. Lastly, you would apply to have the sale annulled, not only on the ground of fraud on the part of Mr. Brander, but because the liquidators could not give a title. Of course in all these steps you would have to be guided by a firm of high standing, but as you particularly wish to avoid publicity, I suppose your first step will be to confront Brander with the proofs of his guilt. I suppose you would wish me to go down with you. I shall be able to do so without difficulty, for I took no holiday last year and can, therefore, get two or three days whenever I choose to ask for them."

"Thank you, Mr. Harford. It will certainly be desirable that I should be backed up by your presence. The first thing I shall do will be to go down to Abchester to see Dr. Edwardes. I want to ascertain from him when he first knew of my father having heart-disease. That he did know it before his death I am aware, though, at my father's particular request, he abstained from informing me of the fact. He may also know when Brander first became acquainted with it. It will strengthen my case much if I am in a position to show that it was after he had the knowledge that my father's death might take place at any moment, that he committed these frauds. As soon as I find this out, which will probably be in a few hours after my arrival there, I will send you a telegram. I am anxious to lose no time, because I do not want Brander to know of my arrival in Abchester until I confront him. If I could find out what he did with the L15,000 he proved to the liquidator that he had drawn out on the day this mortgage was said to have been executed, I should have the chain of evidence complete, but I don't see how that is to be got at."

"It might be got at by advertisements, Mr. Hartington; L15,000 is a large sum, and were you to advertise a reward of L100 for information as to whom Mr. Brander paid the sum of L15,000 on the date named in the mortgage, it is quite probable you might obtain the information."

"I might get it that way, but unless it is absolutely necessary I would rather not do so. Were I to advertise before I see him, he might have his attention drawn to it, and it would put him on his guard. I can but resort to it afterwards if he refuses to come to terms."

Accordingly, the next day Cuthbert went down to Abchester, travelling by a train that arrived there after dark, and taking a fly, drove to Dr. Edwardes'.

The servant took in his name and the doctor at once hurried out into the hall.

"Why, my dear Cuthbert, I am glad indeed to see you, though from your letter I had hardly hoped to do so for some little time. Come in, come in; my wife will be delighted to see you. Dinner is just on the table, so you have arrived at precisely the right moment."

"Dear me, Mr. Hartington, you are looking terribly ill," Mrs. Edwardes exclaimed, after the first greetings were over.

"I have been ill, but I am quite convalescent now. I did rather a foolish thing, Doctor. I joined a corps of Franc-tireurs raised in the schools and studios, and the Germans put a bullet through my body. It was a very near squeak of it, but fortunately I was taken to the American ambulance, which was far the best in Paris, and they pulled me through. It is but ten days since I was discharged cured, but of course it will be some little time before I quite get up my strength again."

"Where was it, Cuthbert? Then you were fortunate indeed," he went on, as Cuthbert laid his finger on the spot; "the odds were twenty to one against you. Did they get the bullet out?"

"It went out by itself, Doctor. We were at close quarters in the village of Champigny when we made our sortie on the 1st of December, so the ball went right through, and almost by a miracle, as the surgeon said, without injuring anything vital. There is the dinner-bell, Doctor. I will go into your surgery and wash my hands. I remember the ways of the place, you see."

During dinner-time the talk was entirely of the siege. When the meal was over, the doctor and Cuthbert went to the former's study, where the doctor lighted a cigar and Cuthbert his pipe.

"How are they getting on at Fairclose?" Cuthbert asked, carelessly.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

"I should say they heartily regret having changed their quarters. Of course it was her doing that they did so. She is a curious mixture of cleverness and silliness. Her weak point is her ambition to be in county society, and to drop the town altogether. She has always been hankering for that. No doubt it is partly for the sake of the girls—at least she always lays it to that. But when I used to attend them as babies, she was always complaining to me that the air of the town did not suit her. However, so far from gaining by the exchange, she has lost.

"As the leading solicitor here, and I may say the leading man in the place, Brander went a good deal into the county. Of course his wife did belong to a county family, and no doubt that helped open the doors of many good houses to him. Well, he is in the county now, but he is not of the county. There was naturally a lot of bad feeling about the smash of that bank. A good many men besides yourself were absolutely ruined, and as everyone banked there, there was scarce a gentleman in the county or a tradesman in the town, who was not hit more or less severely. The idea was that Brander, whose name had been a tower of strength to the bank, had been grossly negligent in allowing its affairs to get into such a state. I think they were wrong, for I imagine from what I heard, that Brander was correct in saying that he was not in any way in the counsels of the directors, but confined himself to strictly legal business, such as investigating titles and drawing up mortgages, and that he was only present at the Board meetings when he was consulted on some legal questions.

"Still there is no stemming the tide of popular opinion. Abchester demanded a scapegoat. Cumming had disappeared, the five directors were ruined, and so they fell upon Brander. He could have got over that—indeed he has got over it as far as the town is concerned—but his purchase of Fairclose set the county against him. They considered that he got it for L20,000 below its value, which was true enough; the other estates that went into the market were all sold at an equal depreciation, but it was felt somehow that he at least ought not to have profited by the disaster, and altogether there was so strong a feeling against him that the county turned its back on Fairclose."

"By the way, Doctor, can you tell me when and how you first became aware of the state of my father? The loss was so recent that I asked but few questions about it when I was here, though you told me that you had known it for some little time."

"I can give you the exact date," the doctor said, stretching out his hand for a book on his desk. "Yes, here it is; it was the 23rd of March. His man rode down with the news that he had found him insensible. Of course I went up as hard as my horse could carry me. He had recovered consciousness when I got there, and his first request was that I should say nothing about his illness. When I examined him, I found that his heart was badly diseased, so badly that I told him frankly he had not many weeks to live, and that, as the slightest shock might prove fatal, I absolutely forbade him to ride. He said he hated to be made a fuss of. I urged him at least to let me write to you, but he positively refused, saying that you would be greatly cut up about it, and that he would much rather go on as he was. The only exception he made was Brander. He was the only soul to whom I spoke of it. I called in and told him directly I got back here and he went that afternoon to Fairclose."

The date was conclusive to Cuthbert. The transfer had been ante-dated some three weeks; and the two clerks, therefore, attested it on the 24th or 25th of March; so Brander had lost no time in conceiving his plan and carrying it into execution.

"By the way, Doctor," he said, after a pause, "I shall be glad if you will not mention to anyone that I am here. I don't want people to be coming to see me, and I would especially rather not see Brander. I never did like the man from the time I was a boy, and I don't think I could stand either his business manner or his hearty one. I thought I would come down and have the pleasure of a chat with you again for a day or two, but I don't mean to stir out while I am here."

The next morning Cuthbert obtained a telegraph form from the doctor and sent his man with it to the post-office. It was directed to Harford, and contained only the words, "Come down this evening if possible. Put up at the George. Come round in the morning to Dr. Edwardes.'"

Cuthbert was really glad of the day's rest, and felt all the better for it. On the following morning Harford's name was brought in just as breakfast was over.

"It is the man who was Brander's clerk, Doctor," he said. "I met him in town and he has come down to see me on a little matter of business."

"Take him into the consulting-room, Cuthbert, I am not likely to have any patients come for the next half-hour."

"That settles it, sir," the clerk said, when he heard from Cuthbert of the date which he had obtained from the doctor, "though I cannot swear to a day."

"I hear that Brander comes to his office about eleven o'clock. He is sure to be there, for I hear that Jackson has gone away for a few days. I will go at half-past. If you will call here for me at that time we will walk there together. I will go in by myself. I will get you to call two or three minutes after me, so that I can call you into his private room if necessary."

"You have soon done with him," the doctor said, as Cuthbert returned to the breakfast-room.

"I have given him some instructions and he will call again presently," Cuthbert replied. "By the way, we were talking of Brander; how have his two girls turned out? I mean the two younger ones; I met Mary in Paris during the siege."

"Ah. I heard from Brander that she was shut up there, and I was wondering whether you had run against her. He is very savage at what he calls her vagaries. Did she get through the starvation all right?"

"Oh, yes, she was living in a French family, and like most of the middle class they had laid in a fair stock of provisions when it became evident the place was to be besieged, and though the supply of meat was stinted I don't think there was any lack of other things."

"I liked Mary," the doctor said, warmly; "she was a straightforward, sensible girl, till she got that craze about woman's rights in her mind; in all other respects she was a very nice girl, and differed from the rest of them as much as chalk from cheese."

"And what are the sisters like?"

"They are like their mother, vain and affected, only without her cleverness. They feel bitterly their position at Fairclose, and make matters worse by their querulous complainings. I never go into the house unless I am sent for professionally, for their peevishness and bad temper are intolerable. If things had gone differently, and they had made good marriages, they might have turned out pleasant girls enough. As it is they are as utterly disagreeable as any young women I ever came across."

"Then Brander must have a very bad time of it."

"Yes, but from what I have seen when I have been there I don't thing they show off before him much. I fancy Brander's temper has not improved of late. Of course, in public, he is the same as ever, but I think he lets himself loose at home, and I should say that the girls are thoroughly afraid of him. I have noticed anyhow that when he is at home when I call, they are on their best behavior, and there is not a word of any unpleasantness or discontent from their lips. However, I suppose the feeling against Brander will die out in time. I think it was unjust, though I don't say it was not quite natural, but when the soreness wears off a bit, people will begin to think they have been rather hard on Brander. There's the surgery bell, now I must leave you to your own devices."

At half-past eleven James Harford called, and Cuthbert at once went out with him, and they walked towards Mr. Brander's office, which was but a couple of hundred yards away.

"How do you do, Mr. Levison?" Cuthbert asked as he entered. "Is Mr. Brander alone?"

"Yes, he is alone, Mr. Hartington. I am glad to see you again, sir."

With a nod Cuthbert walked to the door of the inner office, opened it, and went in. Mr. Brander started, half rose from his chair with the exclamation—

"My dear——!" then he stopped.

There was something in the expression of Cuthbert's face that checked the words on his lips.

"We need not begin with any greetings, Mr. Brander," Cuthbert said, coldly. "I have come to tell you a story."

"This is a very extraordinary manner of address, Mr. Hartington," the lawyer said, in a blustering tone, though Cuthbert noticed his color had paled, and that there was a nervous twitching about the corners of his lips. Brander had felt there was danger, and the blow had come so suddenly that he had not had time to brace himself to meet it. Without paying any attention to the words, Cuthbert seated himself and repeated—

"I have come to tell you a story, Mr. Brander. There was once a man who was solicitor, agent, and friend of a certain land-owner. One day he had heard from his client's doctor that he had had an attack of heart-disease and that his life was only worth a few weeks' purchase; also that the landowner desired that an absolute silence should be observed as to his illness. Then, like another unjust steward, the lawyer sat down to think how he could best turn an honest penny by the news. It was rather a tough job; it would involve forgery among other things, and there was a good deal of risk, but by playing a bold game it might be managed."

"What do you mean by this?" the lawyer exclaimed, furiously.

"Calm yourself, Mr. Brander. There is no occasion for you to fit the cap on to your own head yet. If you think there is anything in my story of a libellous nature you are at liberty to call your two clerks in to listen to it. Well, sir, the scheme this lawyer I am telling you about worked out did credit to his genius—it was complicated, bold, and novel. It happened he was solicitor to a bank. He knew the bank was hopelessly involved, that it could last but a few weeks longer, and that its failure would involve the whole of the shareholders in absolute ruin. If, therefore, he were to contrive to place his client's name on the register of shareholders that point would be achieved. Accordingly, having forms by him he filled one up, forging the name of his client. It would not have done to have had the date of the transfer later than the seizure of that gentleman, for manifestly no man, aware that he had but a few days or weeks to live, would have entered on a fresh investment. He, therefore, ante-dated the transfer by some three weeks.

"As to the witnesses to the forged signature there was no difficulty. He waited for a few days till his client called upon him, and then, after his departure, called in his two clerks, who witnessed the signature as a matter of course,—an irregular proceeding, doubtless, but not altogether uncommon. That matter concluded he went to the bank. It was above all things important that none of the directors should be cognizant of his client having been put on the register, as being friends of that gentleman they might have mentioned the matter to him when they met him. Having the manager a good deal under his thumb, from his knowledge of the state of affairs, he requested him to pass the transfer with others at the next board meeting, in such a way that it should be signed as a matter of routine without the names being noticed, suggesting that the manager should transfer some of the shares he held. This little business was satisfactorily performed and the name passed unnoticed on to the register. There was one thing further to be done in this direction, namely, that the bank should not fail before the death of his client, and he therefore requested the manager to let him know should there be any pressure imminent on the bank's resources, offering to get some of the mortgages it held transferred, and so to bolster up the bank for a considerable time. As a matter of fact he did raise L20,000 in this manner, and so kept the bank going until after his client's death, when he withdrew the offer, there being no longer any occasion to keep it on its legs. You follow this, I hope, Mr. Brander. It is interesting for ingenuity and boldness."

The lawyer made no reply. As Cuthbert spoke the ruddy color on his cheeks had been replaced by a ghastly pallor. An expression of bewilderment had come across his face, the perspiration stood out in big drops on his forehead.

"Thus far you see, Mr. Brander," Cuthbert went on, "the first part of the scheme had been ably carried out, but it still remained to reap the benefit of this ingenuity. In the first place it was certain that the estate of his client would, on the failure of the bank, come into the market. Under such circumstances, and seeing there would be widespread ruin in the county, the estate would fetch far under its value. It would be advisable to get it cheaper still, and this could be managed by the production of a mortgage upon it, and by the invention of a plausible tale to account for that mortgage having been kept a secret even from the dead man's son. As to the deed itself, the matter was easy enough; the document would only have to be drawn up by himself, or in some office in London, the signature of his client affixed as before and the two clerks be called in to witness it.

"It would be necessary to satisfy the official liquidator, however, who might make some inquiries concerning it. It happened that some time before the lawyer had had occasion to pay over the sum of L15,000, as he would be able to prove by his bank-book. Therefore, L15,000 was the sum fixed upon for the mortgage, and the date of that document was made to coincide with that of the payment of that amount. It was easy enough to place among the dead man's papers receipts for the half-yearly payment of this interest. It was not necessary to show that his client had paid these sums by check, as they would, of course, have been deducted from the amount to be handed over by him as agent to his client.

"The scheme worked admirably. After the death of his client, the bank was allowed to break, the estate fell into the hands of the official receiver of the bank, the mortgage was presented, and the proofs considered satisfactory. The lawyer bought the estate for some L20,000 below its value, and this with the mortgage brought the purchase money down from L70,000 to half that sum. The story is interesting, and if anyone should doubt it I am in a position to prove it up to the hilt. I have the sworn statement of the bank manager as to the particulars of the interview with him, the injunction that the transfer should be passed unnoticed, the offer to support the bank, and the partial fulfilment of that offer. I have the opinion of an expert that the signature is not only a forgery but an exceedingly clumsy one. I have the statement of one of the clerks that the signature of both the transfer and the mortgage was witnessed by him and his fellow-clerk in obedience to the orders of the solicitor, but they did not see the signature affixed.

"Lastly, I have a singular piece of evidence that the mortgage was signed not on the date it purported but shortly after the seizure of the client. The clerk might have had some difficulty in swearing that this mortgage was the document that he signed, as the signatures were written on the last sheet of the parchment, and he saw nothing of the contents. But it happened that there were only four lines of writing on that page, and there are four on the mortgage in the hands of the official liquidator, but this is not the crucial point. The clerk, in making his signature, dropped a blot of ink on the parchment. Now it was clear that this blot of ink might prove the means o identifying this document and of proving the time at which it was signed; therefore it was necesssary that it should be erased. This the lawyer proceeded to do and so cleverly that an unpracticed eye would not detect it. The expert, however, though not knowing where the blot had fallen, detected the erasure at once, and noticed that in erasing it two of the letters of the name had been involved, and these had been retouched so as to make them the same darkness as the rest. The chain of evidence is therefore complete."

The last blow had proved too crushing. There was a sudden rush of blood to his face, and, with a gasping sob, Mr. Brander fell back in his chair insensible. Cuthbert ran to the door and opened it.

"Mr. Levison, your employer is taken ill. Send the other clerk to fetch Dr. Edwardes at once, he will not have started on his rounds yet. Bring some water in here."

With the assistance of the clerk, Cuthbert loosened the lawyer's necktie and collar, swept the papers off the table, and laid him upon it, folding up his great coat and placing it under his head.



CHAPTER XX.

"Apoplexy!" Dr. Edwardes exclaimed, as soon as he entered. "Cut his sleeve open, Cuthbert. Fetch a basin, sir, and some water," he added to the clerk.

He took a lancet from his pocket and opened a vein in the arm. At first only a few drops of dark-colored blood issued out.

"Dip a cloth in cold water and wrap it round his head; and do you, lad, run down to Miggleton, the confectioner, and get some ice, quick; it is a matter of life or death!"

At last the blood began to flow more freely.

"I think he will do now," the doctor said, "it is his first seizure. I have told him a good many times that he was too fond of good living and did not take exercise enough. What brought this about, Cuthbert?"

"We had an unpleasant interview, Doctor. I had some ugly truths to tell him and did not spare him."

"Then I think you had better go before he comes to his senses again. Tell my man to bring down a mattress, pillows, and blankets. He won't be fit to be moved to-day, and we must make him up a bed here. Directly I see that he is out of immediate danger, I will send over to Fairclose to break the news to his wife. Yes, I will come round and let you know how he is going on as soon as I can leave him."

Cuthbert nodded and put on his hat and went out. James Harford was standing a few paces from the door.

"He has had a fit," Cuthbert said, as he joined him.

"I thought that was it when I saw the clerk run down the street without a hat and come back with the doctor two or three minutes later. Will he get over it?"

"The doctor thinks so, and I am sure I most sincerely hope he will do so—it would be a bad business in all ways if he did not. Now, Mr. Harford, I don't think there is any occasion to detain you here longer; it may be days before I can see him again, and I don't think it will be needful for you to confirm my statements. I fancy the fight is all out of him—it came upon him too suddenly—if he had known that I was here he might have braced himself up, but coming down like an avalanche upon him it stunned him. Now, Mr. Harford, you must permit me to draw a check for ten pounds for your expenses down here; when I come to my own again I shall be able properly to show my gratitude for the inestimable services you have rendered me."

"I will take the money for my expenses, Mr. Hartington, but I can assure you that I have no thought or wish for payment of any kind for my share in this business, and am only too glad to have been able to give some little aid towards righting the grievous harm you have suffered, to say nothing of paying off my old score against Brander."

Half an hour later Dr. Edwardes returned home.

"He is conscious now," he said to Cuthbert. "That is to say, vaguely conscious. I have not let him speak a word, but simply told him he had had a fit and must remain absolutely quiet. I don't suppose he has as yet any recollection whatever of what preceded it. I am going to write a note and send it up to Fairclose. I must keep a close watch over him for a bit, for I have taken a good deal of blood from him."

"I would rather you did not mention to anyone, Doctor, that I was present at the time he had the fit, as things may happen ere long that will set people talking, and if it was known that it was during an interview with me that he had this apoplectic stroke it might give rise to unpleasant surmises—unpleasant not only to him but to me, for—this is also a secret at present—I am going to marry his eldest daughter!"

"You don't say so, Cuthbert. Well, I congratulate you, for she is a charming girl. I need not say that you can rely upon my keeping it quiet until you choose to have it published."

"Well, Doctor, as it may be some days before I can see Brander again, I will go back to town this evening. I did not see anyone I knew as I went to his office, and I would rather that it should not be known that I am down here. As you are going back there now you might ask Levison to come round here to see me. I will then tell him that neither Brander nor myself would wish it mentioned that I was with him at the time he had that seizure."

"Then I suppose the fact is, Cuthbert, that while I have been flattering myself your visit was to me, you really came down to see Brander?"

"I am rather afraid, Doctor, that had some influence in bringing me down, but you must forgive me this time."

"All right, lad, I am glad to have had a glimpse of you again, whatever your motive was in coming down."

It was ten days before Cuthbert received a letter from the doctor saying that Mr. Brander was now strong enough to see him.

"He has asked to see you several times," he said, "but I have told him that I could not permit him to talk. However, he is a good deal stronger now and is downstairs, again, and as I am sure some worry or other is preying on his mind and keeping him back, I told him this morning that I would send for you."

Cuthbert went down by the next train and was driven over in the doctor's gig to Fairclose. It was strange to him to enter the familiar house as a visitor, and he looked round the library into which he was shown upon giving his name, with a sort of doubt whether the last two years had not been a dream.

He had not much time for thought for the door opened and Mr. Brander entered. Cuthbert was shocked at his appearance. He looked a mere wreck of himself. He walked feebly and uncertainly. His face was pale and the flesh on the cheeks and chin was loose and flabby. He made his way to an armchair and sank wearily into it.

"What are you going to do with me, Cuthbert Hartington?" he asked in a weak voice. "Does all the world know that I am a forger and a swindler?"

"No one knows it, Mr. Brander, nor need anyone know it. If you make restitution as far as is in your power, the matter may rest entirely between us. With the evidence in my possession I am in a position to obtain a judge's order striking out my father's name from the list of shareholders of the bank and annulling the sale of Fairclose, of regaining my own, and of securing your punishment for the offences you have committed. The latter part, as I have said, I have no desire to press. I consider that you have been punished sufficiently already, but I must insist upon the restoration of the estates of which I have been wrongfully deprived."

"And you will say nothing of what I have done?"

"Nothing whatever; it will be for you to offer any reason you choose for resigning Fairclose to me, but there is one other point that I must insist on, namely, that you leave Abchester. Your illness will be a valid excuse for retiring altogether from an active share in the business and of relinquishing the part you have taken in the affairs of the town. As the senior partner you will doubtless receive a sufficient income from your business to enable you to live in comfort elsewhere, and it will be for your own benefit as much as mine for you to leave the place, for it will be painful for both of us to meet."

"I cannot give up Fairclose altogether unburdened," the lawyer said. "L15,000 of the purchase money I found myself. The other L20,000 I raised on mortgages of the estate, and although that mortgage would be invalidated by the proof that I had no power to give it, the mortgagee would, of course, fight the question, and the whole matter would be made public."

Cuthbert was silent for a minute, not from any great doubt or hesitation, but he did not wish the man to see that he was eager to make terms, for he would at once think that he was not in the position to prove the statement he had made.

"It is a large sum," he said, "a very large sum to lose, and then there are two years' rents that you have received."

"These I could repay, Mr. Harrington," the lawyer said, eagerly. "I have six thousand pounds invested in securities I could realize at once."

Cuthbert was silent again.

"Mr. Brander," he said at last, "I feel, and I think naturally, very sore at the cruel wrong that has been inflicted upon me, but I cannot forget that in my boyhood I was always received with kindness by your wife, and for her sake, and that of your daughters, I am most anxious your reputation should remain untarnished. I am willing to believe that this crime was the result of a sudden impulse, and that in other respects you have been an honest man. I cannot forget, too, that my father had a great esteem for you. As to the two years' rents you have received, I will not claim them. I have done well enough without them, and in fact the necessity for working for my living has been of great advantage to me, and that alone makes me less inclined than I otherwise might be to press hardly upon you. I will, therefore, make this offer. You shall sign a paper that I have drawn up confessing the share you have taken in this business. That paper I pledge myself solemnly to keep a profound secret, unless by any subsequent actions you force me to use it in self-protection, and that you will sign a deed of gift to me of Fairclose and its estates, subject to the mortgage of L20,000. You can hand me over the deeds of the estate and I will have the deed of gift drawn up. You will also give me your promise to leave this town and settle elsewhere. On these conditions, I pledge you my word that the transactions by which you obtained possession of the estates shall not be divulged, and that the high reputation you bear shall be altogether unsullied."

"God bless you, Mr. Hartington," the lawyer said, in a broken voice, "for your generosity in sparing my wife and children from the shame and disgrace that would have fallen upon them had you insisted on your rights. It is more than I deserve. I have never had a day's happiness since I came here; it seemed to me that all danger of detection had passed, and yet it was ever before me. I was ever dreading that in some way I had not provided against, it would come out."

"May I ask what income you will draw from your business?"

"The business is worth between four and five thousand a year, and by my deed of partnership I was to receive two-thirds of that as long as I myself chose to take a share in the management, and one-third when I like to retire altogether. A thousand a year is to be paid to my widow after my death, and two hundred apiece to my daughters at her death."

"So you will have some fifteen hundred a year, Mr. Brander, and with that and the six thousand you have invested you will not do badly. I shall return to town this evening again and will bring down the deed as soon as it is prepared."

"The papers connected with the estate are in a tin box at my office, Mr. Hartington," Mr. Brander said, in a voice more like his own than he had hitherto used. "I will write an order to Levison to hand it over to you. I feel a different man already," he went on, as he got up and took a seat at the table; "before, it seemed to me, there was nothing but disgrace and ruin staring me in the face. Now, I may hope that, thanks to your forbearance, I may enjoy in peace what remains to me of life. You may not believe me, Mr. Hartington, there is no reason why you should—but I swear to you I have been a miserable man ever since your father's death. It was not that I was afraid of detection—it seemed to me in that respect I had nothing to fear—and yet I was miserable. Before, I was proud of the respect in which I was held in the town, and felt to some extent I deserved it, for I had given up well nigh every moment of my spare time to its service. Since then I have known that the poorest man in the town would draw aside from me did he but know what I was. To my family it has been a terrible disappointment that the county has turned its back on us. To me it has been a relief. I have felt a sort of satisfaction at finding that, in this respect at least, I had sinned in vain. Were it not for my wife and girls I would even now prefer that all should be known and that I should take the punishment that I deserve. I could bear prison-life better than to go about and mix with other men, knowing what I know of myself and feeling always what they would think of me did they know it also——" and he broke down and buried his face in his hands.

Cuthbert put his hand on his shoulder.

"You have done wrong, Mr. Brander, but as you have repented of it, you may fairly hope it will be forgiven you as freely and as fully as I forgive you. You may take it from me that I feel I have been greatly benefited by what has taken place, and that I have reason to bless the necessity that fell upon me for working for my living. I was spending a very useless and indolent life, and had nothing occurred to rouse me, should probably have led it to the end. Now I have worked hard for two years, and my masters tell me that I have every prospect of rising to eminence as an artist. There will be no occasion for me to rely upon that as a profession now, but the good the necessity for work has done me will remain, and at any rate I shall continue to work at it until this mortgage is paid off. It has in another way brought happiness into my life. Therefore, on my account at least, you need not regret what has happened. I should say nothing at present as to your intention of leaving here. Possibly we may hit upon some reason for your doing so that will be accepted as a natural one. I can assure you I am as anxious as you are yourself, indeed more so, that no shadow of suspicion of anything wrong should rest upon you. So do not worry yourself about it. You can safely leave it in my hands. Now I will say good-bye. I hope that when I return I shall find you stronger and better. I do not know that there is any occasion for you to sign this paper I have brought."

"I would rather do so," the lawyer said, firmly. "It will be a relief to me to know that I have at least made a full confession."

He took the document Cuthbert had drawn up, read it through carefully, then took a pen and added at the bottom—

"The fifteen thousand pounds mentioned above as having been drawn by me from my bank for the purpose of the mortgage, was really used for the payment of calls on shares held by me in the Oakhurst Mining Company. This can be established by a reference to the accounts of that company in the hands of the liquidator."

He then signed his name and handed the paper to Cuthbert.

In spite of the efforts the latter made to hurry on Messrs. Barrington and Smiles, it was nearly three weeks before the deed of gift was prepared. It had, in the first place, been sketched out by Cuthbert, with the assistance of James Harford, and recited "That Mr. Brander, of Fairclose, handed back that estate, together with the house and all appurtenances appertaining thereto, to Cuthbert Hartington as a dowry with his daughter Mary upon her marriage with the said Cuthbert Hartington, being moved thereto partly by his love and affection for his daughter, partly by the desire to restore to the said Cuthbert Hartington the family estates of which he had been deprived, partly from the want of care of the said Jeremiah Brander in failing to represent to the late J. W. Hartington, father of the said Cuthbert Hartington, the grievous nature of the liability he would incur by taking shares in the Abchester and County Bank."

Cuthbert was the more anxious to get the affair arranged, as the insurrection in Paris had broken out, and he was eager to return there. At last the deed was drawn up and he returned to Abchester, and taking a fly at the station drove straight to Fairclose.

He had written several times to Mary lamenting that business had detained him longer than he expected, and suggesting that it would be better for her to leave Paris at once, but she had replied that she would rather remain there, at any rate, until his return. As he did not wish her to come to Abchester at present, he abstained from pressing the point, believing that McMahon would speedily collect a sufficient force at Versailles to suppress the insurrection.

He found Mr. Brander looking much more himself. It was a very subdued likeness, but he had evidently gained strength greatly.

"I have been longing for your return," he said, as soon as Cuthbert entered the library. "I am eager to get out of this and to go away. Have you brought down the deed?"

"Here it is; it is all stamped and in due form, and needs only your signature and that of two witnesses."

Mr. Brander rang the bell.

"John, call Gardener in. I want you both to witness my signature." The coachman came in.

"Glad to see you again, Mr. Cuthbert," he said, touching an imaginary hat.

"I am glad to see you, Gardener. I knew you were still here."

All was ready for the signature. While waiting for the men's entry Cuthbert had said—

"I would rather you did not read this deed until you have signed it, Mr. Brander. I know it is a most unbusiness-like thing for you to do, but I think you may feel sure you can trust me."

"I have no intention of reading it," the lawyer said. "Whatever the conditions of that paper I am ready to comply with them."

After the signatures had been affixed, and the witnesses had retired, Cuthbert said—

"Now, Mr. Brander, you are at liberty to read the deed. I think you will find its provisions satisfactory."

Mr. Brander, with a slight shrug of his shoulders that signified that he was indifferent as to the details of the arrangement, took the paper and began to run his eyes carelessly through it. Suddenly his expression changed. He gave a start of surprise, read a few lines farther, and then exclaimed—

"Can this be true, are you really going to marry Mary?"

"It is quite true," Cuthbert said, quietly. "I first asked her a few weeks before my father's death when I met her down at Newquay. She refused me at that time, but we have both changed since then. I saw a great deal of her in Paris and she worked as a nurse in the American ambulance during the siege. I was one of her patients, having been shot through the body and brought in there insensible. Having assisted in saving my life she finally came to the conclusion that she could not do better than make that life a happy one. She had refused me because she considered, and rightly, that I was a useless member of society, and the fact that I was heir to Fairclose had no influence whatever with her, but finding that I had amended my ways and was leading an earnest and hard-working life, she accepted me, small though my income was."

"God bless her!" Mr. Brander said, fervently. "We never got on well together, Mr. Hartington. I had always an uneasy consciousness that she disapproved of me, and that she regarded me as a humbug, and as I was conscious of the fact myself this was not pleasant. So I was rather glad than otherwise that she should choose her own path. But I am indeed delighted at this. She is honesty and truth itself, and I pray she may make up to you for wrongs you have suffered at my hands."

"She will do much more than that, Mr. Brander, and you see I have good reason for what I said when I was here before, that the change in my fortune had been a benefit, since it had forced me to take up a profession and work at it. Had it not been for that I should never have won Mary. My being once again master of Fairclose would not have weighed with her in the slightest. She would not have married a mere idler, had he been a duke. Now you had better finish reading the deed."

The lawyer read it through to the end.

"You have indeed made it easy for me," he said, when he had laid it down.

"You see, I have an object in doing so, Mr. Brander. I told you that my interest in your reputation was as great as your own. I hope that in any case I should not have made a harsh use of the power I possessed. I am sure that I should not, especially as I felt how much I had benefited by the two years of work, but perhaps I might not have felt quite so anxious that no breath of suspicion should fall upon you had it not been for Mary."

"Does she know?" Mr. Brander asked.

"She does not know and will never hear it from me. She may have vague suspicions when she hears that you have made over Fairclose to me, but these will never be more than suspicions. Nor need your other daughters know. They may wonder, perhaps, that Mary should have so large a share of your property, but it will be easy for you to make some sort of explanation, as is given in this deed, of your reason for restoring Fairclose to me with her."

"They will be too glad to get away from here, to care much how it was brought about, and if afterwards they come to ask any questions about it, I can tell them so much of the truth that it had been found the sale of the property to me had been altogether illegal and irregular, and that in point of fact you had a right not only to the estate but to the L20,000 for which I mortgaged it to raise the purchase money, and to the two-years' rents.

"That is what I shall tell my wife. I think she has always had a vague suspicion that there was something shady about the transaction, and I shall tell her that, so far from regarding the loss of Fairclose as a hardship, I consider you have behaved with extreme generosity and kindness in the matter. Women do not understand business. I am sure it won't be necessary to go into details. She, too, will be heartily glad to leave Fairclose."

"Shall we go in and see them, Mr. Brander? You can tell them as much or as little of the news as you think fit, and after that you can give me some lunch. I want it badly."

"Thank you," Mr. Brander said, gratefully. "I did not like to ask you, but it will make matters easier."

He led the way into the drawing-room. Mrs. Brander was sitting at the window with an anxious look on her face. She knew of Cuthbert's former visit, and that he was again closeted with her husband, and had a strong feeling that something was wrong. The girls were sitting listlessly in easy-chairs, not even pretending to read the books that lay in their laps. They rose with a look of bright surprise on their faces as Cuthbert entered with their father.

"Why, Mr. Hartington, it is ages since we saw you."

"It is indeed—it is over two years."

"I have two surprising pieces of news to give you, Eliza. In the first place it has been discovered that there was a very serious flaw in the title to Fairclose, and that the sale to me was altogether illegal. Mr. Hartington has behaved most kindly and generously in the matter, but the result is he comes back to Fairclose and we move out."