"Ah! he has come to his senses, at last. I knew he would," she cried. "So, you see, Mr. Barnby, that you were utterly in the wrong." "You forget, madam. You yourself admitted that the checks were altered without your knowledge." "Did I? No--no; certainly not! You misunderstood me." "Mr. Herresford and his family are fond of misunderstandings," said the manager stiffly, with a flash of scorn. He shrewdly guessed who the real forger was; but, in the face of the miser's declaration, he was powerless. "This means, Mr. Barnby, that now my son will not be arrested, that the impudent affront put upon us by Mr. Ormsby will need an ample apology--a public apology. The scandal caused by your blunders has been spread far and wide." "That is a matter for Mr. Ormsby. Mr. Herresford has withdrawn his previous assertion, and has given me a written statement, which absolves your son. I insisted upon it being written. It may have to be an affidavit." The sound of the arrival of another carriage broke upon Mrs. Swinton's ear, and she listened in some surprise. "Why are so many people arriving here at this hour?" she demanded, curiously. Mr. Barnby shrugged his shoulders, to signify that it was no affair of his. The front door was opened by Mr. Trimmer, who had hurriedly descended the stairs. Mrs. Swinton emerged from the library at the same moment, impatient to see her father. To her amazement, she beheld Dora Dundas enter. The girl carried in her hand a piece of paper. Her face was pale, her eyes were red with weeping, and her bearing generally was subdued. The message in her hand was a crumpled half-sheet of note-paper, in the miser's own handwriting, short and dramatic in its appeal: "Come to me. I am dying." "Trimmer, I must see my father at once," cried Mrs. Swinton, without waiting to greet Dora. The girl gave her one look, a frozen glance of contempt, and turned her appealing eyes to Mr. Trimmer. "Mr. Herresford," the valet announced, "wishes to see Miss Dundas. The doctor is with him. No one else must come up." "But I insist," Mrs. Swinton cried. "And I, too, insist," cried Trimmer, with glittering eyes and a voice thrilling from excitement. His period of servitude was nearly ended, and he cared not a snap of his fingers for Mrs. Swinton or for anyone else. His legacy of fifty thousand dollars was almost within his grasp. The rector's wife fell back, too astonished to speak.