Henry silently assented, and Arthur went on. "I cannot describe to you the agonies of that night. The 2000_l._, part of which was to pay my debts, had slipped from my grasp; ruin to myself and my children stared me in the face. I had a little flask of brandy in my pocket, which we had brought with us on the journey. I am not accustomed to spirits, and the brandy I drank that night first exhilarated and then almost maddened me. In a kind of frenzy I sat for an hour imitating on scraps of paper Louisa's writing, and that of another, whose name I need not mention. And then, oh, Henry! I signed the two names on the document, and one of them was, to all appearance, the handwriting of the dead! During that dreadful week I kept up my courage with that fatal spirit. You all attributed my stupefied and callous manner to the shock of Louisa's death, and pitied and sympathised with me. I left you and came to London, with the determination to sail as quickly as possible to Australia, that I might obtain money on the deed, and turn it to account in some speculation which would enable me to refund the money and recover the document before it was sent to England. It was a wild scheme, such a one as Satan often uses to lead on his victims to their destruction. I can see that now; I was saved from farther sin by the accident, and painful as my punishment has been, I trust I am thankful for it." "But," said Henry, "why did you not carry the paper in your pocket book?" "Henry, I dared not risk it; I seemed to have the presentiment of an accident, and dreaded the discovery of the paper upon my person. When I found myself falling on that day of sorrows, and felt the carpet bag slip from my hand, I cannot describe my feelings; no wonder I raved about it in my delirium." "It is a most painful history," said Henry, after a pause, "and you may well be thankful for the accident which saved you from further sin, and perhaps disgrace. I need not ask whether you have repented, Arthur, for indeed your act was a breach of the laws both of God and man. It was----" "Don't hesitate, Henry, call it by its right name, 'forgery.' Truly, truly, have I repented in dust and ashes, and I can say like David, 'I abhor myself.'" "Dear Arthur," said the young clergyman, as he saw the tears of real contrition stealing down the cheeks of his brother-in-law, "if such is your repentance, you can continue to use David's words in the Psalm, 'Make me to hear joy and gladness, that the bones which Thou hast broken may rejoice.'" Henry Halford rose as he spoke, and gave the invalid a portion of the mixture which stood on the table, and after awhile Arthur revived, and could listen calmly to another subject. "If you wish to relieve your mind still farther of all anxiety, Arthur," said his brother-in-law presently, "I have some letters in my pocket addressed to you. Would you like to open them? they may contain good news." "Yes, oh yes; where are they?" he exclaimed eagerly.