The magnifico was in his chamber, and looked as aged as a man of eighty. His hair and beard had turned white, his eyes were cavernous and feverishly bright. Roused momentarily by the incident just mentioned, he returned to his seat in an arm-chair near the fire, where, wrapped in a dressing-gown, he had probably passed the night, as his couch was undisturbed. He soon relapsed into a gloomy meditation, holding in his hands the folded newspaper, which he apparently hesitated and dreaded to read. Suddenly, with an effort, his fingers spread the sheet open, and he scanned the columns rapidly until his eyes rested on the account of Klove's execution. To an unusually long description of the horrible affair was appended what purported to be the confession of the malefactor, made to the clergyman in attendance, and reported verbatim. It ran thus: CONFESSION OF KLOVE, THE PIRATE. When I was a boy I lived in Belton, in this State. My mother was a widow, for my father died the year after we came to this country from Germany. There were two of us children, me and a girl. My mother did washing for a living, and I worked for a man named Cook, who was very hard to get along with, and to him I lay all my troubles. I suppose I must forgive everybody now, as I hope to be forgiven myself, but it's mighty hard to let up on him. Now I ain't a-going to say that I didn't kill the men aboard the smack, and that I am unjustly sentenced to die; but I say this, and I believe, as I hope for mercy hereafter, that if it hadn't been for the unjust way in which I was treated when I was a boy, by that man, I wouldn't be here now. The way of it all was this: One day Cook sent me with some money to pay a bill at the store. I didn't know how much there was, but when the store-keeper counted it he said it ran short ten dollars. When I went back to Cook and told him, he got angry, and said he had given me the right sum, and I must have stolen the difference. Now he had a grudge against me, and I believe he never gave me the money, but wanted to get me into trouble. I knew I couldn't have lost it, and the shop-keeper counted it before my eyes, and he couldn't have taken it. Howsomever, Cook swore I stole the money, and they locked me up. They didn't keep me long, though, for they couldn't bring any proof, and was obliged to let me off. But I couldn't stay in Belton after that, for no one would employ me, and they all shunned me for a thief. So I left the place and went to New York, but as I was a stranger there, and didn't know any one, I couldn't find work. Then I shipped for a three years' cruise, for I thought by that time all would be forgot, and I could go back home. As bad luck would have it, my shipmates found out that I had been locked up for thieving,