"Oh, yes, poor boy! There was a rumor some years ago that he was frightfully involved in Baltimore--that it would ruin the old man, in fact, to clear off his debts of honor. But it died out. I suppose William found some way of straightening them out." "Probably. Where is Dr. Scheffer now? I have a message for him." "In his room. But this matter of Louisa Waring----" "Presently. Have patience." I went up to the young man's room. After all, the poor wretch was dying, and to compel him to blast his own honorable name seemed but brutal cruelty. I had to remember the poor girl's wasted face and hopeless eyes before I could summon courage to open the door after I had knocked. I think he expected me, and knew all that I had to say. A man in health would soon have known that I was acting on surmise, and defied me to the proof. Scheffer, I fancied, had been creeping through life for years with death in two shapes pursuing him, step by step. He yielded, cowed submissive at the first touch, and only pleaded feebly for mercy. The negro had been his body servant--knew his desperate straits, and dragged him into the crime. Then, he had loved Louisa: he was maddened by her approaching marriage. The scheme of ensuring her silence and driving Merrick away was the inspiration of a moment, and had succeeded. He only asked for mercy. His time was short. He could not live beyond a few weeks. I would not bring him to the gallows. I was merciful, and I think was right to be so. His deposition was taken before his uncle, Mr. Beardsley, who was a magistrate, and two other men of position and weight in the community. It was to be kept secret until after his death, and then made public. He was removed at once to his father's house. On Colonel Merrick's arrival that evening, this deposition was formally read to him. I do not think it impressed him very much. He was resolved to marry Miss Waring in spite of every obstacle. "But I never would have married you unless the truth had been discovered--never," she said to him that evening as they stood near me in the drawing-room. Her cheeks were warm, and her dark eyes full of tender light. I thought her a very lovely woman. "Then I owe you to Mr. Floyd after all?" he said, looking down at her fondly. "Oh, I suppose so," with a shrug. "But he is a very disagreeable person! Cast-iron, you know. I am so thankful _you_ are not a lawyer, Paul." JAMES M. FLOYD. ROMANCE. I would I were mighty, victorious, A monarch of steel and of gold-- I would I were one of the glorious Divinities hallowed of old-- A god of the ancient sweet fashion Who mingled with women and men, A deity human in passion, Transhuman in strength and in ken.