A passionate burst of grief from the pale, weeping wife testified that, whatever might be the fugitive husband's offences or crimes against society, he at least retained _her_ affection and esteem. "It is very unpleasant," I observed, "to discuss such a subject in the presence of relatives of the inculpated person, especially as I as yet perceive no useful result likely to arise from it; still, since you as it were force me to speak, you must permit me to say, that it appears to me you are either grossly deceived yourself, or attempting for some purpose or other to impose upon my credulity." "Neither, sir--neither," replied Mr. Thompson with warmth. "I certainly am not deceived myself, and I should hope that my character, which I doubt not is well known to you, will shield me from any suspicion of a desire to deceive others." "I am quite aware, Mr. Thompson, of your personal respectability; still you may be unwittingly led astray. I very much regret to say, that the evidence against your daughter's husband is overwhelming, and I fear unanswerable." "The best, kindest of husbands!" broke in the sobbing wife; "the most injured, the most persecuted of men!" "It is useless," said I, rising and seizing my hat, "to prolong this conversation. If he be innocent, he will no doubt be acquitted; but as it is now close upon half-past seven o'clock, I must beg to take my leave." "One moment, sir," said Mr. Thompson hastily. "To be frank with you, it was entirely for the purpose of asking your advice as an experienced person that we are here. You have heard of this young man's father?" "Joel Masters?--Yes. A gambler, and otherwise disreputable person, and one of the most specious rascals, I am told, under the sun." "You have correctly described him. You are not perhaps acquainted with his handwriting?" "Yes, I am; partially so at least. I have a note in my pocket--here it is--addressed to me by the artful old scoundrel for the purpose of luring me from the right track after his son." "Then, Mr. Waters, please to read this letter from him, dated Liverpool, where it appears he was yesterday to embark for America." The letter Mr. Thompson placed in my hands startled me not a little. It was a circumstantial confession addressed by Joel Masters to his son, setting forth that he, the father, was alone guilty of the offence with which his unfortunate son was charged, and authorizing him to make a full disclosure should he fail in making his escape from the country. This was, I thought, an exceedingly cheap kind of generosity on the part of honest Joel, now that he had secured himself by flight from the penalties of justice. The letter went on to state where a large amount of bank-notes and acceptances, which the writer had been unable to change or discount, would be found. "This letter," said I, "is a very important one; but where is the envelop?"