north-west, and volunteering many comments. Mr. Sutherland was rejoiced when the gloomy meal was over, and earnestly wished that the master of the house might soon return, and his business and his visit be concluded at once. He expressed this wish to Mr. Bolling, who hastened to reply

"And so do I, nephew! and so do I! For this is the case every day. Each night that fellow goes to bed tipsy, and each morning appears at the breakfast table in a state of bloated torpor! Yes, Lord knows do I wish that Clem. Sutherland would come, and we could finish our business and leave; for you know I'm going home with you, Mark. I intend to stick to you. I admire your principles-always did-I'm your man."

The day advanced, and still Clement Sutherland did not make his appearance. The late dinner was served, and passed as gloomily as the breakfast, and still he came not. The house was growing intoler able to Mark, who summoned one of the servants, and inquired where he should be likely to find his master; and was informed that he might be found at the Planters' Rest, where he usually stopped when business took him to the village. Mr. Sutherland then ordered his horse, and, while waiting for him to be saddled and brought to the door, went and took leave. of Mr. Bolling, leaving his compliments and adieus to Mrs. Ashley, who had retired to her room to take her afternoon rest. Then he mounted his horse, and took the road to the village, intending, if possible, to have an interview and a settlement with his uncle, and to make his head-quarters at the village inn, as long as he should be obliged to remain.

CHAPTER XXVII.

FORGERY.

"Oh! cursed lust of gold! how for thy sake

The fool throws up his interests in both worlds!

First lost in this-then damned in that to come."-Blair.

In the meanwhile, the object of his solicitude, Clement Sutherland, sat in a private parlour of the Planters' Hotel, in the village of C -, afraid to return home, with wild thoughts of flight darting through his oppressed, distracted head! A victim to the lust of gold, he had served the devil too well to be deserted of him at the last hour. And now he sat, with his prematurely whitened head bowed upon his cramped and shrivelled hands, bitterly trying to recall the wiles and review the crooked paths by which the fiend had led him.

In youth, his besetting sin had been a reasonable wish of independence, and he called it thrift; and it seemed to justify every kind of parsimony and selfishness. In maturity it became a craving desire for wealth, and he named it prudent foresight, wise provision for the future, and it appeared to excuse every sort of exaction from health, life, and limb, of his labourers, or "uttermost farthing" from his debtors. In midlife it grew an absorbing passion, and he termed it parental devotion, and it seemed to palliate every species of injustice, cruelty, and dishonesty. In his age it reached its full development, as a monomania, which he no longer sought to sanctify by any holy

name, when it led him into crime-into the crime of forgery!

Some months before, a most promising opportunity offered of making a great speculation by the investment of a considerable sum of money. But how to raise this sum? He had neither cash nor credit; and all his estate in which he had retained more than a life interest, was mortgaged to nearly its full value. There was one means of raising the funds suggested to his mind, but his soul shrank from it. He could anticipate his ward's majority by a few months, and borrow her signature only for a power of attorney and a deed of mortgage-that was all. And the money could be raised on her real estate, and the sum invested, and the profits secured. And then the mortgage could be released and destroyed before the (he hesitated to give the act its proper name, even in his thought) forgery could be discovered and exposed. So the tempter persuaded him.

He had never trained his moral strength by resisting slight temptations; and now that the temptation was very great, he fell before it. Scarcely daring to think on what he was about to do, he left the neighbourhood of Cashmere for two weeks, and on his return, laid before his correspondent, the usurer at C -, a power of attorney and a deed of mortgage, seemingly duly signed, witnessed and attested. Upon these the requisite funds were borrowed, embarked in the speculation, and lost!

And now the dread day of account had come, and he sat overwhelmed, crushed, unable to fly, afraid to go home, yet fitfully and by turns impelled to each course. It was while he sat there, by turns stupified

and distracted, that the door was opened by a waiter, who announced

"Judge Sutherland !"

And retired, as Mark walked in.

Clement Sutherland started to his feet, pale and wild-looking, and gazed, without speaking, at his nephew.

"Sir, you are ill!" exclaimed the latter, anxiously, stepping up to him.

Muttering some inaudible words between his white lips, the old man sunk down, collapsed, into his chair. Mark hastily stepped to the bell-rope, to ring for wine. But the guilty man, in the confusion of his trouble, misunderstood the intention, and stretching out his trembling, almost palsied arm, bade him "Stop, for Christ's sake!"

Mark returned, with looks of interest.

"I did not mean to-to wrong her! God knows 1 did not!" said the old man, in a quivering tone.

"Wrong whom?" added Mark, regarding him with much surprise and anxiety; "sir, sir, you are really ill, and I must summon some assistance."

"No, no! you are mistaken. Bring no witnesses. It is—it is—a family affair. Now, I suppose, you will have your revenge!" exclaimed Clement Sutherland, with a frightened, chattering smile.

Without more ado, Mark hastened to the door, with the purpose of sending for a physician. But the old man sprang, tottered after him, and clasped him around, staggered back, exclaiming "You shall not! I'll have no witnesses. Oh! you're a lawyer!"

Mark Sutherland disengaged himself, sat his uncle down in a chair, and stood for a moment undecided how

to proceed-vague suspicions crossing his mind for the first time, as he heard his wild words, and recollected Mr. Bolling's ominous doubts.

"Yes, look!" exclaimed the distracted culprit, who had quite lost his self-possession, "look! and consider what you will do! It will be a fine revenge, for old and new, to cast the white-haired man into a Stateprison, won't it? Now, hark ye! No dishonour can crush me that will not touch you! Remember that!" Mark Sutherland went to a sideboard, poured out a glass of water, and brought it to his uncle, who took it in his trembling hand and quaffed it off, and returned the empty glass, all mechanically, and without a word of acknowledgment. Mark Sutherland put down the glass, and then returned and took his seat beside the guilty man, saying calmly, and with some reserve—

"Now, sir, it were best for all parties concerned, that you should put me in possession of the facts of this case."

"And criminate myself! Ha! that's a lawyer's trick, to lead me into such a folly. But I'm cool, I'm collected, I'm not going to do it."

"Sir, you have already criminated yourself."

"Ha! you wish to trap me into doing so, so that you can take your revenge. It would be a tremendous revenge, would it not?"

"Sir, you know well that no such mean spirit of vengeance will influence my action in this matter."

"Ha! well, it will be because it cannot. You can't prosecute me-you can't appear against me-because you can't disgrace me without dishonouring yourself. It would not do, you think, to have it said that Judge Sutherland's uncle was a felon."