Wylie called next day at the office, and was received by Penfold, who had now learned the cause of Arthur's grief, and ushered the visitor in to him with looks of benevolent concern. Arthur was seated like a lunatic, pale and motionless; on the table before him was a roast fowl and a salad, which he had forgotten to eat. His mind appeared to alternate between love and fraud; for, as soon as he saw Wylie, he gave himself a sort of shake and handed Wylie the log and the papers. "Examine them; they agree better with each other now." Wylie examined the log, and started with surprise and superstitious terror. "Why, Hiram's ghost has been here at work!" said he. "It is his very handwriting." "Hush!" said Wardlaw; "not so loud. Will it do?" "The writing will do first-rate; but any one can see this log has never been to sea." Inspired by the other's ingenuity, he then, after a moment's reflection, emptied the salt-cellar into a plate, and poured a little water over it. He wetted the leaves of the log with this salt water, and dog's-eared the whole book. Wardlaw sighed. "See what expedients we are driven to," said he. He then took a little soot from the chimney, and mixed it with salad oil. He applied some of this mixture to the parchment cover, rubbed it off, and by such manipulation gave it a certain mellow look, as if it had been used by working hands. Wylie was armed with these materials, and furnished with money to keep his sailors to their tale, in case of their being examined. Arthur begged, in his present affliction, to be excused from going personally into the matter of the _Proserpine;_ and said that Penfold had the ship's log, and the declaration of the survivors, which the insurers could inspect, previously to their being deposited at Lloyd's. The whole thing wore an excellent face, and nobody found a peg to hang suspicion on so far. After this preliminary, and the deposit of the papers, nothing was hurried; the merchant, absorbed in his grief, seemed to be forgetting to ask for his money. Wylie remonstrated; but Arthur convinced him they were still on too ticklish ground to show any hurry without exciting suspicion. And so passed two weary months, during which Wylie fell out of Nancy Rouse's good graces, for idling about doing nothing. "Be you a waiting for the plum to fall into your mouth, young man?" said she.