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.. THE TRIAL OF JOSEPH BLAKE,…
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THE TRIAL OF JOSEPH BLAKE, ALIAS BITJESfilX. When about one quarter of the eighteenth century had expired London and its vicinity were infested1 by a. gang of villains of thtj most desperate character, of whom this crimi- nal, whose name stands above, was the cap- tam. With his name are associated those of offenders whose exploits, though they may be better known, were not more daring or more villainous. The notorious Jonathan Wil d, whose system of atrocity elevated him into, perhaps, the greatest and most villainous of these heroes of the Newgate calendar; and his no less notorious victim and coadjutor. Jack Sheppard, were both intimately connected with the proceedings of Blake, while others of equal celebrity filled up the number of his followers. The Mint, in Southwark, was, during the early part of the life of those offenders, a place which, being by a species of charter freed from the intrusion of the bailiffs, formed an admirable hiding-place and retreat for criminals, as well as debtors. A system of watch and ward was maintained among them, and like the "Alsatia" of Sir Walter Scott's novel of "The Fortunes of Nigd," which is now known by the name of 'Whitefriars," its privacy was seldom intruded upon by the appearance of the officers of justice. The salutary laws of the commence- ment of the reign of the Hanover family, however, soon caused these dens of infamy I to be rooted out; and the district's referred to are now known only by repute as having been privileged in the manner which has been described. To return to the subject of our present, narrative, he was a native of London, and, having been sent to school at the age of six years, he displayed more intelligence in acquiring a proficiency in The Various Arts of Roguery than in becoming acquainted with those points of decent instruction with which his parents desired he should make himself intimate. While at school lie formed an acquaintance with a lad of the name of Blewitt, who after- wards, with himself, became a member of Jonathan Wild's gang. No sooner bad they left school than they started in life as pick- pockets, and our hero, before he attained the age of fifteen years, had been in half the prisons in the Metropolis. From this they turned street robbers; and, forming connec- tions with others, their proceedings became notorious, and they were apprehended. Blake, however, was admitted evidence against his companions, who were convicted; I "Suddenly drew a cla.sp knife." and, having by that means obtained his own acquittal, he claimed a part of the reward offered by the (Government. He was informed by the court that his demand could not be granted, because his was not voluntary evi- dence', since, so far from having surrendered, lie ha.d made an obstinate resistance, and was severely wounded before he was taken and, instead of rewarding him. they ordered him to find security for his good behaviour or to be transported. Not being able to give the requisite* bail. he was lodged in Wood-street Compter, and there he remained for a con- siderable period, during which his patron, Wild, allowedf him three and sixpence pe" week. At length he prevailed upon two gardeners to enter into the necessary sureties and, their recognisances having been taken by Sir John Fry for his good behaviour for seven years, he once more regained his liberty. This object was. however, no sooner attained) than he was concerned in several robberies with Jack Sheppard, and they at length committed that offence for which Blueskin was executed. We have already said that he had become notorious for the daring which he displayed, and the frequency of his attacks upon the property of other- and he had become no leAs celebrated among his companions, who had favoured him with The Appellation of Blueskin from the darkness of his complexion, and had, besides, honoured him by dubbing him "captain." At the October Sessions of the oid Bailey, 1'723, he was indicted, under the name of Joseph Blake, aliaSJ Blueskin, for breaking and entering the dwelling-110use of William Knee bone, in St. Clement's Church- yard, and stealing one hundred and eight yards of woollen cloth, value thirty-six pounds, and other property. It was sworn by the prosecutor that the entry was effected by cutting the bars of his cellar window, and by subsequently breaking open the cellar- door, which had b(en bolted and padlocked and "hat afterwards, on his going to Jonathan Wild and acquainting him with what had occurred, he was conducted to Blake's lodgings for the purpose of procuring his ap- prehension. The prisonei refusing to open the door, yuilt Arnold, one of Wild's men, broke it opeu. On this Blake drew a pen- knife and swore that he would kill the first man that entered, in answer to which Arnoid said, "Then, I am the first man, and Mr. I Wild is not fai behind; and, if you don't deliver your penknife immediately, I will chop your arm off." Hereupon the prisoner dropped the knife, and', Wild entering, he was taken into custody. It further appeared that, as the parties were conveying Blake to Newgate, they came by the house of the prosecutor, on which Wild said to the pri- soner, "There's the ken," and the latter re- plied, "Say no more of that. Mr. Wild, for I know I am a dead man but what I fear is that I shall after be carried to Sur- geon's-hall and anatomiserl," to 'which Wild replied, "No I'll take care to prevent that, for I'Ji give you a coffin." William Field, an accomplice, who gave evidence on the trial, swore ;ha,t the robbery was committed by Blake, Sheppard, and himself, and the jury brought in a, verdict of "Guilty." As soon as the verdict was given, Blake addressed the court in the following terms:—"On Wednesday morning last Jonathan WiTd said to Simon Jacobs (then a prisoner): 'I believe you will not brisg forty pounds this time (alluding to the reward paid by the Govern- ment) I wish Joe (meaning me) was in your case, but I'll do my endeavour to bring you off as A single felon.' And then, turning to me, he said, 'I believe you must Die. I'll send you a good book or two, and provide you with a coffin, and you shall not be anatomised.' The prisoner having been convicted, it was impossible that this revela- tion of the circumstances under which he was impeached could be noticed; but subsequent discoveries distinctly showed that Wild's system was precisely that which was pointed out, namely, to lead on those who chose to submit themselves to his guidance to the full extent to which they could go, so as to be useful to him, and then to deliver them over to justice for the offences in which he had been the prime mover, securing to himself the reward payabie upon their conviction. His position screened him from punishment, while his pow^r ensured the sacrifice of the victims Mho had so long been his slaves. It appears that Wild was near meeting his end in this case. He was to have given evidence against Blake; but, going to visit him in the bail-dock previous to his trial, the latter suddenly drew a clasp penknife, with which he cut Jonathan's throat. The knife was blunt, and the wound, though dangerous, did not prove mortal, but the informer was prevented from giving the evidence which had been expected from him. While under sen- tence of death Blake did not show a concern proportioned to his calamitous situation. When asked if he was advised to commit the violence on Wild, he said, "No" but that a. sudden thought entered his mind. Had it been premeditated, he would have provmed a knife which would have cut off his head at one-; On the nearer approach of death he appeared still less concerned, and it was thought that his mind was chiefly bent on meditating means of escaping; but. seeing no prospect of getting away, he took to drinking, which he continued to the day of his death, and he was observed to be intoxicated even while he was under the gallows. He was executed at Tyburn on the 11th of November, 1723.
AND THE MAJOR NEVER KNEW.
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AND THE MAJOR NEVER KNEW. Perhaps it was partly her fault, or maybe it was all his fault. Anyway, they had just had a quarrel, one of those unpleasant little affairs in which neither one nor the other will give in or acknowledge being in the wrong, but thinks it the duty of the other, equally blameless participant, of course, to first say— "I am sorry." And it was their first quarrel, too. Then lie falls back on that old reeort and says—"I am going to the club." He gets his hat and coat and is about to open the door to step out, when she half repents and asks him not. to go, but to stay at home with her "at least one evening in the week." But he is either obstinate to her appeal or does not hear her, for he closes the door with. a bang and leaves her alone, to return, perhaps, at midnight, perhaps at dawn. Then she takes the usual course, throws herself on a lounge and cries. .1 I He goes directly to the club. There he meets a few of his friends, and' they sit down for a smoke, preparatory to the night's; excite- ment at. the poker-table. Thus they sit for perhaps half an hour, when the entrance of a rather fat individual seems to create quite a commotion among the smokers. He is be- sieged on the light and left to come and join them in their smoke, and Robert Langdon won- ders who this, rather stout individual who enjoys such popularity can be. "Major Hunt, one uf the most capital story-tellers we have had for some time," answers one of his friends, in reply to a laughing query from Langdon. "Wait until you have beard one of his stories, you will think so, too." "Major, tuis is my friend, Langdon." The major has hardly made himsef com- fortable before he is asked to tell one of his stories, and after a whale yields to the en- treaties of the crowd and begins: — "There is not an Army post in the country, or in the world, which has not some little romance interwoven in its history. But one which I especially remember is one in which the faithfulness of woman, as I will call it, played such an important pMt as to fix the story in my mind for ever. "It was about fiver years ago a,t a Western fort that this incident happened. We had there a young private who came, I believe, foin the East somewhere. I never did find out exactly where he did come from, and I have even forgotten his name now. He1 seemed to be an indifferent sort of fellow, rarely joining the rest of the men in their larks, and keeping pretty much to himsef. He was a handsome young man, too, nearly six feet tail, if I remem ber correctly. It was his mysterious manners which made us wonder I what lie did with himself during his spare moments—that is, when his time was not required by Uncle Sam. We tried in vain to find out. All that we could ever learn of him was that he was always in his mess-room during these intervals, and his: companion privates there sm 'he reads and reads all the time,' that's all. Army life didn't seem to agree with him very much, and we could not see why he ever entered into it. Still there was no one in the fort with nerve enough to ask him the questions we were so anxious to have an- swered. He was the one mystery of the fort. I Perhaps you will wonder why we officers should take any interest in a common private. but before I am through you will see why that wlqlr. "What was also a mystery to us was how he had managed to become well enough ac- quainted with the quartermaster's daughter to be seen occasionally out walking with her. Her name, you must remember, is Genevieve Hutle. She was the belle of tie fort. And I do believe to this day that there was hardly a man in that fort at the time who would. not have stood even Indian torture if she had so wished- but don't be alarmed, gentlemen. No t-uch thought would ever have entered that girl's mind. d. And, then she was very beautiful. Perhaps this had something to do with it. Those among us who had been sick had especial reasons for feeling grateful to her, for as soon as she heard of a case of sickness1 she seemed to be on pins and needles until she received '9UO 5{ots dTI1- asjntr o^ ,TeTI lUO.Tf prasiuoo whether he was officer or private. In truth, liar kindneaa sad charitableness to all made adorers out of half the men in the fort, and the other half was dead in love with her. "Now, to get down to the story. One day there came the announcement that the Indians had gone to the warpati), and that the men 3houldt bs got in readiness to leave at almost any moment to hunt down a, band of roving bucks;, who were thought to be in our neighbourhood, 'before they had much chance of robbing and killing the settlers. One morning the command came, and a troop of Cavalry was detailed to go out and if possible bring them in. The matter had now taken quite a, serious turn, for the few bucks who had started the depredations on a small scale had been joined by others, until several hundred of them had' gone on the warpath in dead ear- nest. It happened that the 'mysterious pri- vate's' troop was the one detailed to go out first on a sort of reconnoitf ring trip, and if on investigation it was thought necessary to send out more men they were to return for rein- forcements. "It was a busy scene at the fort that morn- ing. Soon the bugle mounded, the men leaped into their saddles and moved to the gate of the fort. It was a. proud moment for the men who composed' that troop, for it was their first actual expedition after an enemy. Then came the sound of the bugle again, and the men were off. with the clieer, )f their comrades ringing in their ears. "We in the fort bad ma.ny anxious hour- that day and night, wondering how the expedi- tion would turn out, though we little thought that there would be any serious results. They would' probably return, we) thought, with the whole band of redskins as prisoners. We had no idea' that the red devils would dare defy or much less fire on them. "During that night a terrible snowstorm set in, however, and we kept anxious watch to see if they would give up the chase on this account and returned to the fort. But. no the night passed a way, and dawn still showed no trace of the men. The storm seemed to become more furious with the advent of day, ana the blinding flakes made it impossible to see many feet outside the fort. Then mis- givings regarding the safety of the men began to take form. We had now almost forgotten a.bout the Indians, and our onlythünghts were of the men and how they would manage to return to the fort. in this terrible storm. About noon there was a lull in the wind and snow, and couriers were sent out to see if a-ny trace of the troop could be found. They might be wandering a few miles outside the fort, we thought, unable to find their way in. The searchers returned, however, after a fruit- less search, saying that it was impossible to find -any trace of them, not knowing exactly where to look for them. The ground, of course, having been covered by the snowstorm after their departure, it was impossible to follow their tracks." "About three o'clock in the afternoon, how- ever, we were rewarded in our watch by seeing a dlark mass off to the west, and as it drew nearer a shout went up from the watchers as we discerned our missing troup. "When the men rode into the fort again they were plied! with questions as to what they had done during the terrible storm. But the queries were cut short by the announcement that they had been pursued by at least 300 Indians, who had poured bullets into the little troop for awhile, and that one man was miss- ing altogether. Then for the first time we noticed that many of the men were covered with blood. They had not been out of the fort five hours, they said, when they were attacked by a band of redskins most unexpec- tedly, for they had no idea they were so'near the fort. They seemed to have been waiting for them, for their retreat back was; cut off by half the band, while the rest kept up a fire on them from ambush. They managed to a»t out of it without the loss of any men, however. Jl0tx,fire ll,a,dl be€n UP °n both sides' while the retreat lasted, and several of our men had been wounded, and, as some of the men insisted, the Indians ha.d loet quite a few to the happy hunting grounds. They at last lr gave up the chase when the storm set in. The 'mysterious private' was missed when the troop emerged from a, strip of woods about twenty miles from the fort. He was wounded during the fight and had evidentlv given up the flight from exhaustion. While the men were telling this we .stood about and won- dered what would be done to find the poor fellow, who had now undoubtedly passed into another world. sto™ 'ia<i %'ain commenced with .se«mmgh added fury, and we realised what a dangerous undertaking it would be for anyone to set out wi toil the intention of finding the poor fellow s body. We retired to our quar- ters after hearing no end of narrow escapa stories from some of the privates, to await orders from the commandant as to tlie next move. "WeJiad all given up the idea, of going after the body by nightfall—that is, all but one. We retired for the night, most of us I guess to dream about swallowing Indians alive-' others, perhaps, of having Indians swa,ilow them alive. "Before my time for arising the next morn- ing there came to my ears the loudest cheer- ing, mixed with shouts, that I have ever heard in my lifetime. I hastily dropped into my clothes and ran out to see what was up. Near the gate I saw almost tlie entire popu- lation of the fort, so it seemed to me, most of them engaged in cheering and shouting over .r something. Before I reached the crowd it parted' and two persons rode towards me— the 'mysterious private' and Genevieve Hutle. As.&he passed me, standing almost glued to the spot with surprise, she called out, 'Plea- sant morning,' major, just as though she had just come in from a morning's pleasure ride. "The girl had actually ridden out of the fort at dawn to find that young scamp, who did not seem to be hurt at all—save for a. few scratches such as the rest of the troop had received. She had met him, fortunately, riding towards the fort, or God knows what might have become of that brave girl in the snow. It surprised me a little perhaps to see her so happy after such a dangerous undertaking. But that was, of course, natural then, as I did no know what had passed between them during that ride. ° "During the absence of the voung fellow one of his comrades had cheek enough to examine his, effects—to find! out who he was and notify his relatives of his death, so he said. But, as I believe, to see what the deuce it was that kept him so busy during the evenings. But the big stories the man expected1 to tell of what lie found are still un- to M, for he found only a lot of books, princi- pally law books, newspaper clippings of testi- mony in trials and a lot of other useless trash,' as he expressed himself. What the deuce the ieLow was doing with these was more than he could imagine. Then a great light burst upon me. Imagine a private in the service— very few there are—for the sake of studying law, and you have a view of our 'mysterious private,' with the mystery cleared up. "Well, as you have perhaps; already guessed, they both left us a. few months later. The young fellow's enlistment expired1, and I guess he was pretty tired of ATmy life. He went to New York, I believe, taking the belle of the fort with him. I ha,ve strong reasons; to believe that this was settled during that ride into the fort. I heard of him once since then. One of his friends at the fort said he had quite a large practice down East here. "The Indians were rounded afterwards and subdued. They were scared, I guess, by what they had done, and'' "What's the matter, Langdon, not going already, axe you ? The story did not affect you so seriously, did it? Why, man, I actually believe there are tears in your eyes "Well, no—but—I really have to go now. I have an appointment at home and I've got to go now, or I am liable to be late." Whether Robert Langdon had' an appoint- ment at home or not does not matter much. Sufficient is it to say that he did go directly home, where lie found his wife on the lounge, just where she had thrown herself as he left to go to the club. A sob greeted him as he approached her. "Genevieve, can you forgive me? It was all my fault, and if you'll forgive me I'll never do it again." She turned up her tear-stained face to him and he bent over and kissed her, wondering how it ever entered into him to be so cruel. "No, it was not your fault, it was mine. 1 actually drove you to that horrid club when I know you don't care to go there." "Well, we will not fight about that just now. Do you remember Major Hunt at the fort ? I heard him tell a, story at the club to- night-a story of how a young girl at a Wes- tern fort a few years ago rode out into the snow to rescue a man who had got lost from his troop, and how she brought him in safe and sound. Shall I tell it to you? I remember it word for word." "No, you need not. and if you are not oila", to stop you're everlasting talk about that am just going to get mad again, now He stopped. What a curious effect a story will have OB some people !—Exchange.
ONLY AN HEIRESS.
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ONLY AN HEIRESS. "An heiress And handsome By George I must have an introduction." This waS "what Ralph Fitzsimmons said to himself. Aloud he muttered these words "Made all impiession on you, evidently, Howard "I'm going down to Rossville to be married to the only girl worth loving in the world, said Howard Gray, with a lover's excusable exaggeration; "but Miss Eleanor is a ing young lady, and I am intimate eiioBg*1 to introduce you, if you like." "Ah said Fitz-simmons, veiling his delig^' "thank you. Engaged, I suppose; engaged girls are such bores "Heart free, I believe," said Howard- "She's extremely hard to please. Well, I'll ask her permission, and we'll call on Satur- day evening." To marry an heiress had been Ralphs dream ever since his whiskers began to grow. It was the easiest way of coming by a fortune of which he had ever heard; and Ralph detested labour, and was fond of ease. At present he was merely a clerk in fancy store on a salary which was certainly small one, and he had resolved to marry settle as soon as possible, whenever he colli find anyone whose purse was long enough. And now that lie wa.s actually throW11 in the way of a handsome woman, not on'? young and amiable, but good looking—7s° said Howard, and Howard was a judgb-hls joy knew no bounds. "Hard to please, is she?" said he to him- self. Well, all the better for me. I fa-ncy I have a certain way with me that women find it difficult to resist, and I'm certainly a very handsome man—remarkably hand- some." "Won't I go it?" said he to himself, ag he munched his rolls and swallowed his coffee. "I was meant for a. joily life, and I'll live ij> And, turning his hat sideways on hj head, he hurried to "the store," where his entrance was greeted by an angry glancf from the proprietor, who advanced, watcfl in hand, and inquired curtly: "WeH, Mr. Fitzsimmons, are you that you are fifteen minutes' late 1" "Perfectly, sir," said Fitzsimmons pertly* "Fifteen minutes and a half. Mulct me a penny, sir. About the amount lost, believe." 4 The head of the establishment purple with rage, but as the entrance of cU^ tomers prevented him from "having it 0 with the young man," as he desired, at onC:, he contented himself with howling, "No. forward in terrific tones, and Fitzsmimo*^ otherwise "No. 4," did "forward" to 1 place, but slowly and with much dignw' when a lady entered the store, and, advanc^g straight to his counter, requested to at floss silks for embroidery." » She was a tall young lady, of verv >n pendent manners, dressed plainly. No 0 of any importance, of course, Fitzsimm0 decided, would shop in such attire.. e "What colour ?'V said lie, without movins' and 1 with his hands in his pockets. "Let me see your stock," said the "Can't you tell me what you want? S Fitzsimmons. "1 have told you that I wish to look! your floss siSks," said the lady. y "Oh," said Fitzsimmons, "well, there j are. If they don't do, I can't help r(j can't gratify the whims of females in Teg to shades, and I've given up the attend Six and six are twelve, and——" ,j10 "I shall take none of these silks," said lady, rising. "I teg your pardon, ma'am," cried j, proprietor, advancing. "Has anything- "Mr. Fitzsimmons called her a female,s u "cash," who; like "little pitchers," had ff ears." t "Mr. Fitzsimmons," hissed the indig11 master of the store, "you and me must par. This won't do. You're a—a—a, tIJ- "You're another said Fitzsimmons, c tle- pleting the sentence over which the first, man had fallen flat, "and I'm rejoiced to le.a. this confounded retail hole." # 9 An hour or two later lie strutted into jp gorgeous drawing-room in Fifth-i'velltlC. Ie I I the wake of his friend Howard. Three pe arose to greet them—an old gentleman, 'lD and a voung lady. i'j-r. Brown, my friend Fitzsimmons. J: Brown, Miss Eleanor." 0j<J Fitzsimmons smiled and bowed. gentleman began to talk, the old lady The voung lady sat silent and embroidef^ with green floss silk on white velvet, & vine leaves and tendrils. ceen Fitzsimmons looked at her. He ha" her before. An awful memory flashed a his brain. He strove to banish it. ler^ she would not recognise him. perhaps "Industrious this evening. Miss KleaD said Howard.. 9 "Yes," said Eleanor. "I'm maki^S.^ wedding present, and weddings are like j. and tide—they wait for no one. I'm be hand, too." "Pity!" said Howard.. for "Yes," said Miss Eleanor. ShOPPIDgt all green silks of a certain shade kept me out a day." "So hard to find?" said Howard.. ^-cv "Very," said Eleanor. "And you '^jfy the people in stores can't find time to gra tb6 the whims of females, and have given UP v' nOU0 lit attempt. Haven't they, Mr. Fitzsimmons turned scarlet. The f tb eyes had flashed upon him for once meaning in them. The heiress was the in the waterproof, and she recognised h'1^ He had lost his situation and his l,el.j {# also, merely because he had not been cl^g a person in a waterproof cloak. It ^6 shocking reflection, but perfectly true, >° 0fl visit to the store had been no chance oJ: Eleanor's part. She was romantic, and having had a ?. j tf picture painted of Ralph's, charms, de?if see him off his guard for the first tim", thereby judge him better.
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TIE,: Yes, my ancestors were Royafc" suffered for the king. j froØ She: Ah I judged you were descended someone who had lost his head. ——— t!II Housewife (suspiciously): Aren't yotlie' tramp to whom I gave a whole mince P week ? t Ragged Haggard: Nome, I'm his g"09 Magistrate: You say the prisoner s upon you was entirely unprovoked ? j jtfj* Complainant: Entirely, your honour. came up to him. and said, "This is Pre isn't it ? and then I Magistrate (sternly): The prisoner 1 charged.
THE DOCTOR'S -U0 VICTIM:
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you. The ring you used to wear over your wedding-ring "1 somehow lost it here, about a week be- fore I left Edinburgh." "Ah That accounts for its possession by the woman we sunposed to be you, Mrs. Mac luff." "And the laird—has he meddled with my concerns ?" "He has tried to do so, but I stopped him. But the will, Mrs. Macduff. If that had been left in my possession he could have done nothing. "I brought it with me-, here it is. Take it and keep it for me, for I know it will be quite safe in your possession." "The laird has also managed to borrow a large sum of money on the security of his VCpectations a3 your heir-at-law." "What did he want with the rwnty f "To buy a farm adjacent to lyji awn.laads." "Who is the lender?" "The factor, Maclaren, who wished to iiarry Mary Paterson last winter was a year." "We will pay him a visit to-morrow, if you do not object, Mr. Buchan r' "On the contrary, I sh.al1 be delighted. Ma-elaren once played my father a very (shabby trick, and I have longed for the chance to give him a Roland hr his Oliver." The lawyer and his client duly waited upon 1,116 factor next morning, and when Maclaren knew that his chances of ever getting ba-ck Ms money had departed he vowed to have his "pound of flesh' in another fashion. "I was only at Thistleden a week, but the housekeeper was very friendly. She was named Mrs. M Whinnie do you t-h&tk you oMtid finJ. her now?" asked ,M:¡: Macduff, after a pause. "Oh, yes; I ha-ppeu to know that she is at Coliirbon, for I am her agent. She hao in- herited ft small fortune:—just sufficient to enable her to live comfortably without again going to serrwe." "I think she will be able toO prove beyond, the possitiiiit.y of doubt that the laird must have known, when viewing the body of the worn— you believed to be 11)", ^-#5 be was seeking tn perpetrate a. gross {.(-(.tiri." Aid so it proved. Mr. Bnchan and his client drove out to Oclintor. and Mrs. M'Whinnie fully corroborated Mrs. Macduff's opinion that the laird knew he was not telling the truth '.vhen he expressed his belief in the identity of the corpse of the drowned woman With his sister-in-law. "You see. Mr. Buchan, I wear a my own hair being very scanty. A,M when I left Thtstleden, it was so huntfily—I was in such haste to get away after the horrible tales Mary told me-tliat I left one of my wigs behind in my bedroom. I always keep two, in case of accidents. When I missed it, I wrote to Mrs. M'Whinnie about it, and sent the letter by a messenger-a. gardener living near the Lindsays—with instr-itions to wait for a reply. But in the m--iii,time- I did not miss my property for *tjrir days-- the laird had returned homs, and had ran- sacked the bedroom I occupied, finding the wig. He refused to return it to me, sending a verbal message, that if I wanted the wig I must fetch it myself. Therefore, he must have known that he was identifying an un- known woman. "What course do you intend to take?" "Send for the laird to meet me at your office to-morrow morning; I will then be guided by his conduct." Laird Macduff knew well what the summons meant. The. sudden meeting with his sister- in-law had sobered him sufficiently to enable him to gauge his position. And the threaten- ing letter the factor sent him, after the visit of the lawyer and his client, had p(spared David Macduff for the storm that was brew- ing. But, somehow, lie fancied that if the woman he had wronged so deeply meant to proceed to extremities she would not have sent for him. It was, therefore, with a hope- ful feeling that he entered Mr. Buchan's office at the hour appointed. "What have you to say for yourself, David Macduff ?" asked his sister-in-law, quietly. "Nothing. I cannot excuse myself; my wickedness has been too great. It ij useless, I am afraid, to say I bitterly vegtiti. My con- duct. "No, David, it is not uselrAE. You are my near dead husband's brother. How he came to his death probably you know better than any other person. But on that subject I will say no more; it is a matter between yourself and your own conscience. I have mv suspi- cions, but they cannot be proved. It can be proved, however, that when you identified another woman as your brotheri) 'widow, you Aveli knew you were not spe?.!rf»g the truth." "I did believe-" "Stay, David; I can easily prove what I have said. Mrs. M'Whinnie can swear that you knew I wore a wig of false hair. We mw her yesterday." The laird was silent; he saw that he was hedged in on every side, and that, if Steenie's widow proceeded to extremities, he would inevitably be transported. "You have borrowed a large sum of money in the expectation that I should never turn up again; you must repay it." "I cannot." "Why not ? The farm you bought will sell for the same amount, or near it. I shall not refund a farthing of the money. And before you leave this office you will sign a written confession that in identifying that dead woman you knowingly committed a fraud, or at least did so with the after intention of committing the fraud. The confession will be kept a secret between ourselves and Mr. Bnchan; that is, so long as you refrain from molesting me or your niece. If you refuse, Mr. Buchan will at once go to the fiscal." "Sign a. confession? Will nothing less ap- pease your anger?" "It :.s not prompted by anger-it is merely a precaution. I cannot trust you, David M*^kifF." And secretly glad that he was getting off so easily, the laird, biting his lips with vexa- tion, intimated that lie would do as requested. Mr. Buchan wrote the confession-a brief statement to the effect that in identifying a. certain body taken from the sea by the crew of the Leith packet, as that of his sister-in- law, Alice Macduff, the laird knew that such identification wa.s false and fraudulent. "There is one other condition," said Mrs. Macduff, after the laird had signed the paper "you must quit Scotland, and live somewhere in England, for at least one year." "I refuse! I will not do it!" shouted the exasperated laird. "I think you will," coolly replied Mr. Buchan. "Your niece, Jessie Macduff, is to be released from the asylum within one week from the date of an order issued yesterday by the Lunacy Commissioners. If you are in Scotland when she regain/3 her liberty, she will take out a warrant against you for attempted murdec by poison." "Who will believe what she says?" sneered the laird. "If that is the way you show your repen- tance, David Macduff, I have small faith in it, and must reconsider n;:y position," said Mrs. Macduff, somewhat s&rvzily. Aud, cornered again. tho kiird was forced to acquiesce in the ultimrsfrsn presented to him. "Who will manage th" estate?" he de- manded. "Your nephew George; if he declines, Mr. Buchan will find a competent bailiff," replied Mrs. Macduff. And so much afraid W \J he that Jessie's tale of the drugged wim: \v<m]d be t elieved that he left all the arrang'?mejr/ iv. t!i'5 hands of Mr. Buchan, and on the^t^wrjjg d 'y todk seat in the coach for Cft <b" But the scheming laird, d*< not intend tu quit Scotland: he had d<wj'ded to fight in secret those Who had su!,h)oUd hiM to such terrible iliatiou. 4