“Miss Brownie,” he continued, speaking very gently and humbly, “I have a very humiliating confession to make. I pray you, when you have heard it, to judge me as kindly as you can, and whatever you do with me to meet the claims of justice, if you will only say on your own part that you forgive an old man, it will take the heaviest burden of my life from my heart.” She could not understand what this proud, self-reliant man, who for many years had had charge of all her aunt’s affairs, could mean by speaking in this humble, broken way to her. “You wonder at my words,” he went on, “and yet you look trustingly upon me; but it will not be quite so when I tell you that I have betrayed that trust.” “Betrayed my trust!” she repeated. “Yes, betrayed your trust, betrayed your aunt’s trust, and played the villain of the deepest dye. Miss Douglas, I have made a beggar of you!” “Conrad, man, are you mad?” exclaimed Dr. Sargeant. “Surely, my friend, you do not mean anything so bad as you have stated,” said the kind-hearted clergyman, in grave tones. “A beggar!” cried Miss Huntington, she alone taking in the full sense of the word, and appalled at her friend’s calamity. “Did you understand me, Miss Douglas?” asked Mr. Conrad, somewhat impatiently, and wondering at her apathy, while he did not heed the questions of the others. “Yes; you said I—I should not have my property,” she replied, avoiding the harsh words he had used. “Heavens! how indifferent you are: I said I had made you a beggar. Not a pauper in the streets has less than you will have when the debts are all paid,” he cried, sinking into a chair by her side, the sweat rolling off his face. “Yes, yes, I know what you mean,” Brownie said, arousing herself when she saw how distressed he appeared, then added: “But please, Mr. Conrad, do not look so—do not feel so badly about it. I know auntie trusted you fully, and I am sure it was something you could not help; I dare say, I shall not mind it so very much when I get used to it,” she concluded, gently. The stricken lawyer groaned aloud. He had been prepared for tears, and sobs, and censure; and here the noble girl was forgetting all her own wrong, and striving to comfort him for his share in it. “Dear Mr. Conrad, will you please explain this disagreeable affair to me? I see it is troubling you very much. I do not understand much about business, but I will listen attentively, and try to comprehend,” she said, gently. “God bless you, dear child, for your goodness to me,” he said, taking her hand in one of his, while he wiped his moist brow with the other. “I do not deserve it from you. Yes, I will explain at once, and have this dreadful burden off my mind; it has nearly crushed me for years. You know, dear, that I have had the care of your aunt’s property for the last forty years—in fact, nearly ever since she came to this city to live.” “Yes, sir.”