That Roland would never remember anything of the matter, and that he would always incline to believe his own memory defective, than suppose such a falsification possible, Linton was well convinced. There was but one difficulty; how should he manage for the witnesses, whose names were to be appended as actually present at the moment of signing. Here was a stumbling-block--since he could scarcely hope to find others as short of memory as was Roland Cashel. It was while still canvassing the question in his mind that he came upon the intelligence in the newspaper of the lawyer's arrival at Limerick, and suddenly it struck him that he could easily in that city find out two persons, who, for a sufficient consideration, would append their signatures to the deed. A little further reflection devised even an easier plan, which was to take along with him the Italian sailor Giovanni, and make him represent Cashel, whose appearance was quite unknown. By Giovanni's personation of Roland, Linton escaped all the hazard of letting others into his confidence, while the sailor himself, in a few days more, would leave the country--never to return. It was with the calm assurance of a man who could put a price upon any action required of him, that Giovanni found himself, an hour after midnight, summoned to Linton's dressing-room. “I told you some time back, Giovanni, that we might be serviceable to each other. The hour has come a little earlier than I looked for; and now the question is, are you of the same mind as you then were?” “I know nothing of the laws of this country, signor, but if there be life on the issue--” “No, no, nothing like that, my worthy fellow. In the present case, all I ask for is your silence and your secrecy.” “Oh, that is easily had--go on, signor.” “Well, I wish to go over to-morrow by daybreak to Limerick. I desire, too, that you should accompany me--as my companion, however, and my equal. We are about the same height and size, so take that suit there, dress yourself, and wait for me at the cross-roads below the village.” The Italian took the parcel without speaking, and was about to retire, when Linton said,-- “You can write, I suppose?” The other nodded. “I shall want you to sign a document in presence of witnesses--not your own name, but another, which I'll tell you.” The Italian's dark eyes flashed with a keen and subtle meaning, and leaning forward, he said in a low, distinct tone,-- “His Excellency means that I should forge a name?” “It is scarcely deserving so grave a phrase,” replied Linton, affecting an easy smile; “but what I ask amounts pretty much to that. Have you scruples about it?” “My scruples are not easily alarmed, signor; only let us understand each other. I'll do _anything_”--and he laid a deep emphasis on the word--“when I see my way clear before me, nothing when I am blindfolded.” “A man after my own heart!” cried Linton; “and now, good-night. Be true to the time and place.” And with this they parted.