“So I will, then,” resumed Davis. “That other thing was this. So long as you were the great man in prospective, and might some fine day be a Lord, you could always persuade yourself--or some one else could persuade you--that Kit Davis was hanging on you just for your rank; that he wanted the intimacy of a man in your station, and so on. Now, if you ever came to believe this, there would have been an end of all confidence between us; and without confidence, what can a fellow do for his pal? This was, therefore, the obstacle; and even if you could have got over it, _I_ couldn't. No, hang me if I could! I was always saying to myself, 'It's all very nice and smooth now, Kit, between you and Beecher,--you eat, drink, and sleep together,--but wait till he turns the corner, old fellow, and see if he won't give you the cold shoulder.” “You could n't believe--” “Yes, but I could, and did too; and many's the time I said to myself, 'If Beecher was n't a top-sawyer, what a trump he 'd be! He has head for anything, and address for anything.' And do you know,”--here Grog dropped his-voice to a whisper, and spoke as if under great emotion,--“and do you know that I could n't be the same man to you myself just because of your rank? That was the reason I used to be so sulky, so suspicious, and so--ay, actually cruel with you, telling you, as I did, what could n't I do with certain acceptances? Now, look here, Beecher--Light that taper beside you; there's a match in that box at your elbow.” Unsteady enough was Beecher's hand; indeed, it was not wine alone now made him tremble. An intense agitation shook his frame, and he shivered like one in an ague fit. He couldn't tell what was coming; the theme alone was enough to arrest all process of reasoning on his part. It was like the force of a blow that stunned and stupefied at once. “There, that will do,” said Grog, as he drew a long pocket-book from his breast-pocket, and searched for some time amongst its contents. “Ay, here they are; two--three--four of them,--insignificant-looking scraps of paper they look; and yet there's a terrible exposure in open court, a dreary sea-voyage over the ocean, and a whole life of a felon's suffering in those few lines.” “For the love of mercy, Davis, if you have a spark of pity in your heart,--if you have a heart at all,--don't speak in this way to me!” cried Beecher, in a voice almost choked with sobs. “It is for the last time in my life you'll ever hear such words,” said Grog, calmly. “Read them over carefully; examine them well. Yes, I wish and require it.” “Oh, I know them well!” said Beecher, with a heavy sigh. “Many's the sleepless night the thought of them has cost me.” “Go over every line of them; satisfy yourself that they 're the same,--that the words 'Johnstone Howard' are in your own hand.”