His nose was somewhat large, and of the Roman type; his mouth sweet and gentle in expression, but full of manly strength and firmness; it had also now something of sadness in its lines, from the long term of cruel endurance and restraint which he had undergone. But his step was as free and proud, his head as erect, his gaze as clear and unflinching as before any one had dared to accuse him of having robbed his fellow-man, or he had served a criminal’s sentence. And why not? He had not sinned; he had done no wrong; he had never wilfully harmed a human being in all his life. His own conscience told him he was as true and noble a man at heart as any that walked the earth; and he would not sacrifice his self-respect because, upon circumstantial evidence, he had been obliged to serve out a sentence in a State prison for another man’s crime. He returned to the city that had been his home before his imprisonment, and where he had served three pleasant years with Richard Forrester, and where now, since he was dead and gone, he had no hope of having a friendly hand extended to him. His first night he spent in a quiet, but respectable hotel, and slept restfully and well. The next morning Mr. Felton wended his way, with the all-important document which Editha desired in his pocket, to Mr. Dalton’s residence on ——th street. He meant to have attended to it before, but had been unexpectedly called from town on business the morning after Editha’s visit to him, and had had no time until then to go to her. Editha was in a fever of anxiety and impatience on account of it, and for two whole days had watched for his coming from her window almost incessantly. When at last she saw him ascending the steps, she sped to the door and answered his ring, whereupon she led him directly to the library, where her father was sitting. “Papa,” she said, speaking as indifferently as she could, after the two men had exchanged greetings, “Mr. Felton has called to-day to settle that business of Uncle Richard’s bequest to Mr. Wayne.” Mr. Dalton started and flushed angrily, frowning darkly upon her; then by an effort curbing his anger, he turned to the lawyer with a light laugh. “Has this young lady been importuning you also upon her sentimental whims?” he asked. “Miss Editha called several days ago and told me of her uncle’s request, and asked me to prepare the necessary documents,” Mr. Felton replied, quietly, and with a sympathetic glance at Editha’s hot cheeks. “Well, what do you think of it? Did you ever hear of such a piece of foolishness as she contemplates?” “It is a question with me whether it _is_ a piece of foolishness to desire to fulfill the request of a dying man,” returned the lawyer, gravely. Editha gave him a grateful look. “Pshaw! Richard Forrester did not know what he was about. He was a feeble paralytic, and not accountable for what he said at that time,” said Mr. Dalton, impatiently.