But some minutes passed, and he did not reappear. "I thought he said he had only to go around the corner," said the Agent. "It is probable," Howard replied, "that the boys have gone to dinner. In that case, if your business is important, he has possibly gone to call the post master himself." A quarter of an hour passed. Carleton had had time to walk to Mr. B.'s house and back, but still he did not make his appearance. The Agent grew uneasy. He waited five minutes longer, then resolved upon a decisive step. "Mr. Fellows," he cried, in the deaf gentleman's ear, "did you ever see that bill before?" Fortunately, Mr. Fellows' sight was good, though his hearing was bad. He examined the paper without spectacles, and decided at once that he then and there saw it for the first time. "Did you not buy a horse of Carleton yesterday?" "No," said Mr. Fellows; "I have talked of selling his mother a pony, but I never bought anything of him." The truth flashed upon the Agent's understanding. For his credit let it be declared, Carleton had played his game with a consummate art that would have deceived "the very elect." No time was lost in obtaining traces of the young man's flight. The Agent judged rightly, from his character, that he would not attempt to leave town. He anticipated a more melancholy fate for the unhappy youth. Some inward prompting seemed to direct him to an apothecary's shop not many doors distant, and on inquiry he learned that Carleton had just been there. "Which way did he go?" "In fact, I am not certain he has gone," said the druggist. "He purchased some medicines, remarking that he wished to write out some directions for its use, and stepped into the back room. I have been very busy, and he may have passed out without my seeing him." The Agent sprang forward. The door was locked upon the inside. "What medicine did you sell him?" asked the Agent. "Oh! you needn't be alarmed, he has studied medicine, and knows how to use these things." "He knows how to use them too well! This door must be forced. His life depends upon it,--if it is not already too late!" Too late, indeed, it was! On breaking into the room, Carleton was found lying upon the floor, with an empty vial beside him, and an unfinished letter to his sister on the table. In that letter he confessed his guilt, and besought his sister not only to support the mortal affliction he had brought upon her, with fortitude, but also to sustain and console their mother. The young man was not yet dead. Medical assistance was speedily procured, but all efforts to save his life proved unavailing. He was already past consciousness, and never spoke again.