THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 THE 
 
 FORGED WILL; 
 
 OR, 
 
 CHBIB AND RBTB1BUT10N. 
 
 BY EMERSON BENNETT. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "VIOLA," "CLARA MORELAXD," "WAL'PE-AVATIKKX, 1 
 "PIONEER'S DAUGHTER," "PRAIRIE FLOWER," ETC. 
 
 "IF Emerson Bennett had never written his many delightful and thrilling stories of 
 border life, of prairie scenes, and Indian warfare, this new story of the ' FORGED \Vn.i.' 
 would have placed his name on the record as one of the best of American novelist*." 
 The scenes, principally, of this .most captivating novel, are laid in the city of New- 
 York; and most glowingly the Author pictures to us how the guilty may, for a time 
 escape the justice of the law, but only to feel the heavy hand of retribution sooner or 
 later; how vice may, for a time, triumph over virtue, but only for a time: how rrimi> 
 may lie concealed, until its very security breeds exposure; how true virtue gives 
 no temptation, but bears the ills of life with patience, hoping for a better day. ami re- 
 joices triumphant in the end. In short, from base hypocrisy he tears the veil that hides 
 its huge deformity, and gives a true picture of life as it exists in the crowded city. \Ve do- 
 cordially recommend this book for its excellent moral. It is one that should be circulated, 
 for it must do good." 
 
 "The Forged Will is one of the most thrilling native productions that we have ever 
 read, and yet the incidents are so true to nature, so life-like, that the reader can scarcely 
 realize the fact that he is reading fiction. The sketches of the ' Abode of the Unfortunnt .' 
 and of the interview between the ' Betrayer and his Victim,' possess the most absorb!] .; 
 interest. The writer has a happy faculty of holding his moral steadily before the reader. 
 He never allows virtuous precepts to linger far behind the recital of vicious practices. 
 Both are found in close contiguity. His light and shade form a complete picture. 'This 
 is an admirable quality." Philadelphia Weekly Dollar Xewnpuper. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, NO. 102 CHESTNUT STREET.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by 
 EMERSON BENNETT, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, 
 in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY GEORGE CHARLES. 
 PRINTED BY KINO * BAIRD.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 THE HYPOCRITE UNMASKED, 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH, 23 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 THE LIVING MOURNERS, 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 THE PAST RECALLED, 45 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 PLANS FOR THE FUTURE, 58 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND, 69 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE HYPOCRITE AND HIS TOOL, 79 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 NEW AND STRANGE ADVENTURES, 93 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 THE ABODE OF THE UNFORTUNATE, 104 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 THE BETRAYER AND HIS VICTIM, 116 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 REWARD OF DARING 127 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FORTUNE STILL PROPITIOUS, 140 
 
 (7) 
 
 1318087
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 THE PLOT THICKENS 151 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 TUB ARREST, . .' '. 164 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 THE PLOT AND THE TRAITOR, 172 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 THE ABDUCTION, 183 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 THE HAPPT DELIVERANCE .*. 197 
 
 CHAPTER -XVIII. 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND, 209 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 THE EXAMINATION, 219 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 THE DAMNING DEED, 230 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 THE INQUEST, 245 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE GUILTY IN TROUBLE, 254 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 THE MURDERER AND THE MURDERED, 261 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 HYPOCRISY AND CRIME, 265 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 THE FORGERY, 272 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 THE LOVERS, 286 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 CONCLUSION, . 296
 
 THE FORGED WILL; 
 
 OE, 
 
 CRIME AND RETRIBUTION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 v 
 
 THE HYPOCRITE UNMASKED. 
 
 IT was a dark and stormy night in the month of Novem- 
 ber, 18 . To simply say it was dark and stormy, conveys 
 but a faint idea of what the night was in reality. The 
 clouds were inky black, and charged with a vapor, which 
 freezing as it descended, spread an icy mantle over every 
 thing exposed. The wind was easterly and fierce, and drove 
 the sleety hail with a velocity that made it any thing but 
 pleasant to be abroad. Signs creaked, windows rattled, 
 lamps nickered and became dim, casting here and there long 
 ghostly shadows, that seemed to dance fantastically to the 
 music of the rushing winds, as they whistled through some 
 crevice, moaned down some chimney, or howled along some 
 deserted alley on their mad career. It was, take it all in 
 all, a dismal night, and such an one as, with a comfortable 
 shelter over our heads and a cheerful fire before us, is apt 
 to make us thank God we are not forced to be abroad like 
 
 (9)
 
 10 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 the poor houseless wretches who have no place to lay their 
 heads. It is too much the case at such times, that we con- 
 gratulate ourselves on being far better off than they, with- 
 out taking into consideration that it is our duty, as humane 
 beings, to render them as comfortable as our circumstances 
 will permit. But who thinks of the poor ? God cares for 
 them, say the rich, and that is enough. 
 
 But dark and disagreeable as was the night alluded to, 
 there was one who strode rapidly through the almost de- 
 serted streets of New York, seemingly unmindful of the 
 storm, and wholly occupied with thoughts of his own; 
 whether bright and cheerful, or dark and gloomy as the 
 storm itself, will presently be seen. 
 
 At the moment we have chosen to introduce him to the 
 reader, he was picking his way along a narrow, dark and 
 filthy street, that led from the vicinity of Five Points to a 
 more open thoroughfare, which, crossing it at right angles, 
 traversed a great portion of the city between the North 
 and East rivers. On reaching this latter, known as Grand 
 street, he turned to the left, and in a few minutes was 
 standing at its junction with the still larger and more 
 fashionable throroughfare of Broadway. Here he made a 
 momentary pause, and cast his eyes to the right and left, 
 while something like a heavy sigh escaped him. All was 
 gloomy as before ; for though an early hour in the evening, 
 even Broadway was nearly deserted ; and only a few strag- 
 glers, with here and there an omnibus or close-shut hack~ 
 rattling swiftly past, as if the drivers cared little to pause 
 or seek for passengers, met his eager gaze. Turning to the 
 right, our wayfarer pushed up Broadway with a quickened 
 pace, as if reminded by some inward monitor he had been 
 moving too tardily. Looking now neither to his right hand 
 nor left, but with his head bowed on his bosom to avoid the 
 peltings of the storm, he still pressed on for several squares,
 
 THE HYPOCRITE UNMASKED. 11 
 
 when he came to a beautiful street, of splendid private 
 residences. Here again he paused for a few seconds, and 
 looked wistfully down its now deserted walks, as if he felt 
 a secret hesitation in going further. Then, as if suddenly 
 influenced by another thought he darted more rapidly than 
 ever along the slippery pavement, and in less than five 
 minutes stood before a splendid mansion the secluded 
 abode of wealth, ease and refinement. As he halted at the 
 foot of the marble steps, and cast his eyes up to a window 
 where a soft light faintly stole through a rich damask cur- 
 tain, he sighed audibly, ran his hand quickly across his 
 forehead, and seemed even then almost uncertain whether to 
 advance or retire. But his decision was soon made ; and 
 springing up the steps in haste, he rang the bell with a hand^ 
 made nervous by agitation. 
 
 In due time, a sleek, well-dressed, well-fed negro, some 
 thirty years of age, whose .general characteristics bespoke 
 the darky dandy, cautiously opened the door, as if either 
 fearful of the storm or the visitor ; but no sooner was it 
 open, than the young man for such the light of the hall 
 revealed him to be sprang inside to the no little dismay 
 and astonishment of the black, who was about to make 
 some impertinent remark, but which the other prevented 
 by saying hastily ; 
 
 " Excuse me, Jeff; I have no time to stand on ceremonies. 
 Is your master at home ?" 
 
 It is impossible to portray the look of the indignant 
 scorn with which the negro greeted this-abrupt apology and 
 interrogation. Drawing himself up with a proud air, he 
 cast a supercilious glance over the person of the intruder, 
 from head to foot and from foot to head, looking hard at 
 his thread-bare garments, the remnants of better days, and 
 then answered rather disdainfully : 
 
 " See here, Edgar Courtly, you fo'get you'sef. When
 
 12 THE FOKGED WILL. 
 
 I's \vid my ekals, I's called Misser Jeffrey Pomfret, and 
 none of dem familiar Jeff's, only by gemmen as is gemmen. 
 And as to massa, I's hab you know as how dis child hab 
 nothin to do wid dem vulgar names. I is free nigger now, 
 and massa am done gone long time ago." 
 
 The pale features of the young man flushed, his dark 
 eyes flashed, his hand opened and shut convulsively, as he 
 heard these insulting words, and for a moment he seemed 
 on the point of punishing the negro for his insolence; but 
 then, remembering where he was, and the object he had in 
 coming hither, he smothered his indignation and calmly 
 replied : 
 
 " Once, Mr. Jeffrey Pomfret, as you are pleased to term 
 yourself, such language from you to me would have cost 
 you a severe chastisement ; but things have altered since, 
 and so let it pass. Is Mr. Atherton at home?" 
 
 " 'Spose he am?" returned Jeff, doggedly. 
 
 " Then tell him I wish to speak with him without a mo- 
 ment's delay." 
 
 " You-you tink he see you ?" asked Jeff, shaking his 
 head. 
 
 "Do as you are bid," rejoined the young man sharply, 
 " or, be the consequences what they may, I will teach you 
 a lesson you will not soon forget ;" and clenching his hand, 
 he took a step or two towards the negro, who, perceiving 
 the matter was approaching a crisis, slowly departed on his 
 errand, muttering as he went something about impertinence 
 of poor relations, until his person had disappeared up the 
 stairs leading from the hall to the chambers above. 
 
 As soon as he was out of sight, young Courtly folded his 
 arms on his breast, and with brows rather closely knit, in 
 silence awaited his return. In short time the negro made 
 his appearance, and, iigfc rather pompous tone, said:
 
 THE HYPOCRITE UNMASKED. 13 
 
 " Misser Atherton says you please excuse him, case he 
 am engaged." 
 
 " I will not excuse him," returned young Edgar, in a 
 sharp tone of indignation, while his face reddened and his 
 dark eyes flashed defiance. " I came here to see him, and 
 I will not depart without. Tell him so !" 
 
 "No! no! I'll not go near him wid dat message," re- 
 turned Jeff, "case dis child's head would be brokum." 
 
 " Then I will seek him where he is," rejoined Edgar 
 Courtly. " Show me his apartment !" 
 
 " Best not go, Misser Edgar !" 
 
 " Do as I bid you!" 
 
 " Well, den, fust room on de leff." 
 
 With this the young man advanced to the staircase, and 
 ascended it with an unfaltering step. On reaching the 
 floor above, he paused at the first door on the left, and 
 rapped. On hearing a voice say " Come in," he entered 
 a splendidly furnished apartment, whose bright and cheer- 
 ful appearance formed an imposing contrast to the howling, 
 dismal night without. Everything of refined comfort was 
 here profusely displayed ; but as all tastefully arranged 
 apartments are much alike, it will be unnecessary for us 
 to describe it minutely. A bright coal fire was burning 
 in the grate, in front of which, at some little distance, 
 stood .an elegant marble centre-table, strewn with books 
 and papers. By this table, on the entrance of Edgar 
 Courtly, sat two persons a lady just blooming into woman- 
 hood, and a gentleman some forty-five years of age the 
 former engaged in reading a book, and the latter in 
 perusing a newspaper. The eyes of both simultaneously 
 rested upon the intruder, when the lady, rising from her 
 seat, passed out of the room by a side door, leaving the 
 gentlemen alone to themselves. *.*Wjth their eyes bent 
 sternly on each other, and a frown gathering on the brow 
 2
 
 14 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 of each, for a short time the occupant and his unwelcome 
 guest remained silent a period \ve will improve in de- 
 scribing their personal appearance. 
 
 We have said that the gentleman by the table was a 
 man some forty-five years of age, and consequently scarcely 
 turned the full vigor of intellectual manhood. His appear- 
 ance, however, was, in some respects, in advance of his 
 years; for his head was. partially bald, and partially 
 covered with thin, gray hairs. Whether this was the 
 result of unassisted nature, or had been brought about by 
 perplexity, fright, grief, trouble, scheming or care, we 
 shall not pause here to determine, but simply chronicle the 
 fact. His features, generally, were regular, and of that 
 peculiar cast which would make them prepossessing or 
 otherwise, according to the mood or will of the owner. 
 There was no lack of intellect in the prevailing expression 
 of the countenance, and the forehead was high and broad. 
 His eyes were of a clear, cold, blue, that would not be 
 likely to impress you favorably, unless rather softly twink- 
 ling under the veil of hypocrisy, which none could better 
 and more readily assume than he. His mouth and chin 
 were rather handsome, and the former well filled with 
 white, regular teeth, visible at every smile, which smile 
 was ofterf present to cover some hidden, devilish design. 
 Take him all in all, Oliver Atherton was a character you 
 would need to study long and well to properly understand; 
 and even then, with a deep knowledge of human nature, 
 and a keen, quick perception of the true state of the heart 
 from outward signs, ten to one you would give him credit 
 for being a far better man than would his recording angel. 
 But it is not our desig^ to point out here his virtues, his 
 faults, or his characteristics. He must speak and act 
 throughout our story in propria personse, and the reader 
 can be his own judge in the end. With the additional
 
 THE HYPOCRITE UXMASKED. 15 
 
 statement that in person he was portly, and of an air to 
 command respect among strangers, we turn to Edgar 
 Courtly. 
 
 In stature the latter was slightly above medium, possess- 
 ing a fine, manly form, and a dignified bearing, that would 
 have benefitted one his senior by ten years. No one, not 
 even the most casual observer, could mistake him for a 
 common character, for one of that herd of human beings 
 who are as much alike as the pebbles on the sea-washed 
 beach. His features were pale and haggard, as if from 
 some corroding, inward struggle a painful, constant labor 
 of the mind, which bears the body onward to premature 
 decay. Yet this appearance did not set ill upon him, but 
 rather increased that look of lofty, noble intellectuality, 
 which lighted his countenance, and shone in his dark, elo- 
 quent, hazel eye. His forehead was broad and massive, 
 and though not remarkably high, was expressive of bril- 
 liant and vigorous thought. As he stood before the other, 
 his eye fixed intently on him, there was a slight contrac- 
 tion of his handsome brows, and a compression of his thin, 
 bloodless lips, expressive of a determination to push to the 
 end the task he had imposed upon himself in thus coming 
 into the presence of one, who, if not an absolute foe, could 
 by no means be regarded as a tricnd. And as the two stood 
 and stared upon each other, the selfish, scheming look of 
 the worldly man found as great a contrast in the bold, 
 noble, open, yet passionate countenance of the youth, as 
 didjhis elegant broadcloth, starched linen, and white, sys- 
 tematically-tied neckcloth, in the negligent, threadbare, 
 faded garments of the other. 
 
 "Well, sir?" said Mr. Atherton, at length, throwing 
 down his paper w r ith an angry gesture, and pausing as if 
 for the other to state his business. " Well, sir," he re- 
 sumed in a sharper tone, as the young man, dropping hig
 
 1G THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 eyes to the floor, did not seem in haste to reply, " to what 
 am I indebted for this intrusion of Edgar Courtly ?" 
 
 "Pardon me!" answered the young man, in a subdued 
 tone, closing the door and taking a few steps forward, but 
 still with his eyes cast down. " I am sorry sir, that cir- 
 cumstances have forced me to intrude myself in this 
 manner, but " 
 
 "Stop!" interrupted the other, bluntly; "you make 
 use of wrong phrases. There are no circumstances, young 
 man, let me tell you, which can force a person, well brought 
 up, beyond the rules of good breeding. No man of honor, 
 sir, with a spark of the gentleman in him, could by any 
 means be induced to intrude himself on another, when 
 previously informed of that other's desire not to be dis- 
 turbed." 
 
 " Well, sir, as you will but at present I have more 
 urgent matters than a disputation on a trifling point of eti- 
 quette. I came here, to this house, sir, to see you, sent a 
 message to you to that effect, and not succeeding by that 
 means in bringing you to me, have taken the liberty of 
 calling on you in your own apartment." 
 
 " At the risk of being kicked down stairs for your 
 trouble," retorted the other, flushing with anger. 
 
 "No, I do not think I run any such risk," rejoined 
 Edgar, giving the other such a firm, cool, determined look, 
 that he moved uneasily in his seat, let his eyes sink to the 
 floor, and slightly coughed, by way of filling up the, 
 unpleasant interval, and reassuring himself. " I hardly 
 think I run any such risk," pursued the young man, 
 approaching the table, and even bending over it, as he added 
 the sarcastic interrogation : "Doyow, Mr. Atherton?" 
 
 "Ahem!" growled the other; "ahe-e-m! Come, come 
 what does all this mean ? What is it you want here 
 with me at this time of night, Edgar Courtly ?"
 
 THE HYPOCRITE UNMASKED. 17 
 
 "Justice," answered young Edgar, promptly. 
 
 " How, ir ? in what way ? what' do you mean ?" 
 
 " My mother, sir, I fear is dying." 
 
 "Well?" was the cold response. 
 
 " Well, say you !" cried the other, with a burst of indig- 
 nation. " Well, say you ! By heavens, sir, it is not well, 
 but most wofully ill ! My mother, I say, I fear is dying, 
 and without the comforts of life, without medicine, without 
 proper food, and without fire. Think of that on such a 
 night as this !" 
 
 " Well ?" was the rejoinder again. 
 
 "I came here for money, sir the filthy dross of the 
 earth, which, by its poterrt charm, can command all mortal 
 aid." 
 
 " And why herejBphy come you to me ? Have I not 
 forbid you my house ?" 
 
 "And why to you?" repeated the other, indignantly, 
 taking no heed of the last insult ; " because, unfortunately, 
 the blood of my mother runs in your veins. She is your 
 sister." 
 
 " 'Tis false !" cried the man of wealth ; " false as a two- 
 faced evil spirit. She is not my sister : I have disowned 
 her : I did so on the day she threw herself away upon 
 your father." 
 
 The young man reddened at this, bit his lips, and for a 
 few minutes seemed almost vainly struggling to command 
 his temper. He succeeded, however, at last, and then 
 said, in a low tone, with forced calmness : 
 
 " Ay, you did disown her, as you say ; and well for her 
 and all others concerned had you stopped there, and not 
 carried your dark, double-dealing villainy any further. 
 You disowned her for a time, played the villain openly, and 
 afterwards acted the still more villainous part of a hypo- 
 crite. You disowned vour sister because she had married 
 2
 
 18 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 a poor man ; but when you found that, by good fortune, 
 energy and perseverance, my father was in a fair way to 
 amass a handsome competence^ you thought it wise to play 
 the fawning sycophant, that you might ingratiate yourself 
 with him, and rob him of his honest earnings. You played 
 the penitent said you had been hasty that you regretted 
 what you had done, and hoped all would be overlooked. 
 In short, you worked upon the noble nature of my father, 
 until he was led to think you a conscientious, honest man, 
 and took you into his confidence, only to be stung at last, 
 as when one clasps a serpent to his bosom. Yes, sir, my 
 father was wealthy, as you know, and as you alone know to 
 what extent. Reposing at last every confidence in you, he 
 left you in charge of all his affairs^nd went abroad on 
 business. The vessel he sailed fH^nras lost, and all 
 perished ; and when this news reachea you, then it was you 
 showed your cloven foot ; then it was you threw off in part 
 the n^ask, and in part revealed yourself a devil incarnate. 
 Suddenly then you discovered my father had left a will, 
 by which, after a small pittance to my mother, sister and 
 myself, you became sole heir to his vast possessions. ' 
 You grieved sorely about his death, as every one could see 
 by your solemn, pale face and sable robes, and by the 
 punctilious manner in which you administered on his last 
 will and testament, claiming to a cent every thing to which 
 you had now a legal right, even to the mansion my nearly 
 distracted mother then inhabited. All this you did with a 
 smooth, oily tongue, but wobegone countenance, saying it 
 was not for the property you sought that you cared 
 nothing about that but that all you did was simply done 
 to carry out the desires of your dearly adored, but unfor- 
 tunate brother ; that when every thing should have become 
 satisfactorily settled, you would present your sister the 
 estate, and every thing should go on as smoothly as before.
 
 THE HYPOCRITE UNMASKED. 19 
 
 Did you do this ? Ask your own self-condemning con- 
 science, if you have one. Did you do this? Let the 
 widow's prayers and orphans' tears answer. Did you do 
 this ? Turn to the great Register of Heaven, on which 
 all good and evil deeds are written, and see if you can 
 trace aught there commendable. Did you do this ? No, 
 base hypocrite ! as I now tell you to your teeth you are, 
 you did no such thing. On one pretence and another, you 
 disposed of the property and removed to this city, where 
 you have been, and are still, living on your ill-gotten gains ; 
 and where you promised, if my mother would follow, you 
 would support her handsomely. Thinking you might have 
 a particle of humanity in your composition, and would 
 restore her in parjwf^i was rightfully her own, she sold her 
 effects and came hither, only to find herself and children 
 beggars, and whonycGsowned by a miscreant brother." 
 
 The young man was still on the point of proceeding 
 further, when the other, unable to endure more, sprung 
 from his seat, and, with demoniac rage depicted on his 
 countenance, exclaimed : 
 
 " Hold, rash boy ! or, by the living powers, I'll have 
 you ejected from my presence as I would an assassin !" 
 
 "Nay," returned Edgar, coolly, "do not get in a pas- 
 sion, Mr. Atherton uncle I will not call you, since you 
 deny relationship, do not be uneasy, sir, but sit down and 
 hear me out, for the worst is still to come. Nay, no 
 frowns, for they will not intimidate me in the least, and 
 can therefore do you no service. Nay, furthermore, do 
 not attempt to leave the room, nor to call assistance here, 
 or I will not be answerable for the consequences and just 
 now I am somewhat of a desperate individual, Mr. Ather- 
 ton. There, that is right," he added, as, after some 
 "hesitation, the other at length resumed his seat ; " now I 
 will proceed in brief:
 
 20 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 "I have said, Mr. Atherton, that so soon as it was 
 ascertained my father was dead, you somehow mysteriously 
 discovered a will, which made you principal heir to his 
 possessions. Now, although this was found in due form, 
 bearing his signature and that of several witnesses ;- and 
 although in turning to the court register it was found 
 entered the day previous to his setting sail for the conti- 
 nent, still, good Mr. Atherton, since I must speak the 
 truth, I grieve* to say there were not wanting those hase 
 enough to insinuate to my mother and myself, that Ethan 
 Courtly, my sainted father, never had the honor of reading 
 a line of it, or in fact of knowing he had set his hand to 
 any such document." 
 
 "But but," gasped the other, turning pale with excite- 
 ment, "you you ' 
 
 "Pray do not get in a passion," pursued Edgar. "Keep 
 cool, Mr. Atherfon, keep cool. I know you would ask if 
 I believe any such base insinuations. The fact is, you 
 see, just now it is perfectly immaterial what I believe. I 
 have no time to say further, than that I came here for 
 money, and money I must have or, make me, Mr. Ather- 
 ton, the most heavy of consequences shall rest on your 
 head. If you ever did any wrong in your life mind, now, 
 I say if (and the dark hazle eye of young Edgar was 
 fixed piercingly upon the other, as if to read his very 
 soul,) you doubtless had some assistance ; and it sometimes 
 happens that tools turn traitors. Some things are known. 
 Do you understand me ? I came for money. Can I have 
 it?" 
 
 The abrupt manner in which the young man concluded, 
 the peculiar emphasis he laid upon certain words, and the 
 peculiar look which accompanied them, implied he knew 
 far more than he chose then to reveal; and produced a 
 curious effect upon his uncle ; insomuch that he changed
 
 THE HYPOCRITE UNMASKED. 
 
 21* 
 
 color often, dropped his eyes to the ground, moved uneasily 
 in his seat, and allowed himself to be perceptibly embar- 
 rassed. At the last question he started suddenly, and 
 answered rather quickly : 
 
 " Certainly, certainly how much do you want?" And 
 then, bethinking he had- thrown himself off his guard, he 
 as quickly added : " That is I I must say that that 
 -7-1 am willing to assist my sister or your mother, I 
 should say some but do not feel able to do so to any 
 great extent at present : in fact, to tell the truth, have no 
 funds at all about me but if you will call " 
 
 "Nay," interrupted the other, " I will manage that. 
 Just give me your check for a certain amount." 
 
 " Certainly I would but " began the other, and then 
 stopping, as a sudden thought struck him, (which must 
 have been prompted by the devil, if one might judge by 
 the deep, sinister smile that curled for a mfiment around his 
 mouth, shone in his eyes, and then vanished like one's 
 breath from a mirror,) he added : " Certainly I will let 
 me see ! yes, I will do it ;" add going to his escritoire, 
 he wrote a few lines and handed them to the young man, 
 with the injunction to trouble him no more, but hie to his 
 mother and relieve her as soon as possible. 
 
 Glancing at the paper, Edgar Courtly was surprised to 
 discover it a check for one thousand dollars on a banker in 
 Wall street. The first impulse of his generous soul, was 
 to seize his uncle's hand and crave pardon for all he had 
 said, and own he had done him wrong ;. but then, remem- 
 bering the peculiar manner by which the other had been 
 wrought to this liberality, he altered his intention and 
 simply said : 
 
 "Sir, I thank you! Good night!" and with the last 
 words he opened the door and disappeared. 
 
 " Ha, ha !" laughed Oliver Atherton, as the form he 
 2*
 
 99 
 
 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 hated quitted his sight; "you thank me, do you, you 
 little know for what. Well, Edgar Courtly, you triumph 
 now in your own conceit ; hut my turn will come next ; and 
 then and then " and shaking his head, with a dark 
 smile, hut leaving the sentence unfinished, he resumed his 
 seat at the tahle, and turned again to his paper, as though 
 nothing had occurred to disturb his equanimity.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 
 
 IN a dingy, filthy street, known to those familiar with 
 New York as Mott, there stood, among a great many 
 others of the same class, an old, dilapidated, wooden 
 structure, which, though it could scarcely bear the title of 
 dwelling, was used as such, or rather as an abode, by a few 
 miserable tenants, whose poverty precluded the possibility 
 of their seeking one more pleasant and commodious. Since 
 its erection, the street whereon it stood had been some- 
 what raised, which gave to the building the appearance of 
 being sunk into the earth some two or three feet. Its 
 windows could hardly boast a sound pane of glass in some 
 cases not any and the door of entrance was broken from 
 its hinges. There was no fear of thieves here, for the 
 simple reason that there was nothing within worth the 
 trouble of stealing ; and hence the tenants lived less in 
 dread of their neighbors than of the elements, whose cold 
 penetration, on such a night as we have described in the 
 opening chapter, was any thing but agreeable. Between 
 this building and a similar one on the left, ran a narrow, 
 filthy alley, communicating with a miserable hovel in the 
 rear, containing only two apartments, badly ventilated and 
 poorly lighted. To this latter we must for the present 
 direct our attention. 
 
 In the front apartment or at least in that apartment 
 nearest the street, for neither, strictly speaking, could be 
 called front on the night our story opens, there were two 
 
 23
 
 24 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 occupants a mother and daughter the former lying upon 
 a rude bed, worn down almost to a skeleton, and in the 
 agonies of a disease which was fast bearing her to a world 
 that knows no sorrow ; and the latter kneeling by her side 
 on the damp floor, clasping her thin hand, and weeping the 
 bitterest tears a mortal can feel. The elder was a woman 
 slightly turned of forty, but bearing the marks of sixty 
 years the third score being added by trouble rather than 
 time. Although, as previously stated, sadly wasted by 
 sorrow and disease, yet the outlines of her pale, sunken 
 features, and a glance of her deep blue eye, which was 
 scarcely shorn of its wonted luster, showed she had once 
 been a very beautiful being beautiful by reason of intel- 
 lect as well as person. In sooth what is beauty of person 
 without intellect, but the cold expressionless wax figure, or 
 the equally inanimate doll? 
 
 The features and form of the daughter bore a strong 
 resemblance to those of her mother in her palmiest 
 days. Her skin was fine and clear, and her deep blue eyes 
 beamed with a soft and tender light, showing a soul full of 
 all the sweetest, purest and holiest feelings of humanity. 
 Her hair was a light brown, and parted over a smooth, 
 handsome forehead, which gave to her a noble and benevo- 
 lent appearance. In fine, combine the whole features 
 which to define singly would almost be impossible, as the 
 strong points for which the painter would seek were every 
 where wanting and you beheld one of those angelic 
 creatures that seemed formed to convey to us an accurate 
 conception of beings too lovely to dwell in a place so cold 
 and heartless, unless for a brief period, to soften, as it 
 were, by the sunshine of their presence, the dark and 
 cheerless aspect which must otherwise surround us. Her 
 form not above medium, was airy and graceful as that of a 
 sylph ; while her tiny feet and white delicate hands would
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 
 
 have won favor from the most fastidious connoissieur. Add 
 to this, that her age was just eighteen, and with a little 
 imagination you can place her accurately before your 
 mind's eye. 
 
 Lovely as she was in person, not less so was she in those 
 virtues which most adorn her sex. There was nothing in 
 her disposition of a cold, haughty, repulsive nature ; but, 
 on the contrary, she was ardent, mild and affectionate, 
 forgiving to a fault, and full of those sweet and holy 
 sympathies which sometimes make us pause and wonder 
 why earth is permitted to contain a being so illy suited to 
 its jars and discords. But a little reflection will show us 
 that this is a wise ordination of that Great Being who set 
 the wheels of creation in motion for what would our 
 world be without occasionally such spirits to produce a 
 harmony with the rough cords of life ? "Without such 
 gentle spirits, what would earth be but pandemonium a 
 darkened sphere of gloom and sorrow, illumined by no ray 
 of happiness? 
 
 The apartment where these two beings were, was unfur- 
 nished, or at least so scantily as to be unworthy of the 
 name. A few rough chairs, an old worm-eaten bureau, a 
 deal table, on which stood a sickly tallow candle, sending 
 forth a dismal light, that rather served to show than dispel 
 the darkness, together with the bed and a few of the most 
 common articles in u^e, completed the list. In the fire- 
 place lingered a few embers, fast going out for the lack of 
 fuel to renew the flame. 
 
 And this cold, dismal, dungeon-like place, was the 
 present abode of those whose every look and gesture, to 
 say nothing of their language, told that to them it was a 
 new life, or rather a living wretchedness to which they had 
 never been accustomed. Oh, what a gloomy scene was this ! 
 what a terrible trial for those to undergo who had hereto-
 
 26 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 fore been used to wealth, ease and refinement ! What are 
 the sufferings of the miserable wretches who have never 
 known aught but poverty, compared with those who feel it 
 for the first time? In any case such condition is hard 
 enough to bear, Heaven knows; but the horrors thereof 
 are increased ten-fold, when it falls upon such as have been 
 born and bred in the halls of wealth. How the sensitive 
 soul shudders and shrinks within itself, and even longs to 
 escape its frail tenement of clay, and soar to that world of 
 bliss where sorrow never enters, and all is bright and 
 glorious sunshine forever ! 
 
 And here were these unfortunate beings, alone by them- 
 selves, on a dismal night, when the storm without was 
 howling in fury, shaking their frail abode even to its 
 foundation, as it whistled and moaned through the crevices 
 with a wail like the voices of imprisoned spirits seeking to 
 escape their hell of torture. And why were they here on 
 such a night as. this ? Let the wrongs of humanity answer. 
 Let the crimes of those who sit in high places answer. 
 Let him, no matter who nor where, who hasjf obbed the 
 widow and the orphan of their last mite, answer ay, 
 answer before that Great Tribunal where Justice alone sits 
 Judge, and Power and Wealth and Position stand but as 
 chaff before the gale. As this poor widow and her daughter 
 were on the night we introduce them, so have thousands 
 been both before and since ; and from the same cause, the 
 wrongs of those who have occupied, and do occupy, a high 
 place in the eyes of the worldly wise. But look to it, ye 
 Wrongers, and tremble! for as surely as that the sun 
 shines at noon-day, that the stars are above us in the night, 
 or that death will overtake you, so surely will there come 
 a day of retribution of fearful reckoning when your 
 canting hypocrisy will avail you not when the " silver 
 vail" will be stripped from your vile features, and you will
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 
 
 stand forth before the eye of Almighty God in your own 
 natural, hideous deformity ! Look to it, we repeat, and 
 tremble ! for it will be a fearful, a terribly fearful moment 
 to you. 
 
 For a few moments mother and daughter remained as 
 introduced, with hands clasped in each others, while the 
 quick breathings of the invalid, the sobbings of the younger, 
 and the raging of the storm, were the only sounds audible. 
 It was a damp, cold night, and yet they were almost with- 
 out fire, and both so thinly covered that they shivered in 
 spite of their efforts to the contrary. 
 
 " Do not weep, my child !" said the invalid at length ; 
 " do not weep, Virginia ! for your tears make my sufferings 
 intense." 
 
 " Oh ! how can I help it, mother ?" returned the other, 
 lifting her soft, wet eyes to her parent, with a fresh burst 
 of grief. " How can I help it, mother, when I behold you 
 thus, on a bed of sickness and pain : and and perhaps 
 death/ (she shuddered at the last dreadful word,) without 
 even 'the ordinary comforts of life to relieve in part your 
 sufferings? Oh! it is too much too much!" and she 
 again sobbed aloud with grief. 
 
 "It is hard, my daughter, I know," rejoined the other; 
 " very, very hard ; but then, my sweet Virginia, we should 
 remember it is the will of God, who does all things for the 
 best." 
 
 " So I try to think, dear mother ; and so I do think, and 
 know ; and I have struggled long and hard to be composed, 
 and not excite you with my grief but in vain. My cup of 
 bitterness seems over full, and these tears will come in 
 spite of all my efforts to the contrary. When I think of 
 what we were once, and what we now are, and to what wo 
 owe our misfortunes, it is impossible for me to restrain
 
 28 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 myself, and it seems as if my brain were on fire and I 
 must go mad." 
 
 "But," pursued the other, " you must not give way, my 
 child ! I feel certain our afflictions are all for the best, even 
 though we, poor, weak, short-sighted mortals cannot see 
 into the great futurity. We are chastened, and most 
 severely, but it is by the hand of our Maker, and for some 
 good end perhaps that we may wean our thoughts and 
 affections from the world, and place them on more holy 
 things." 
 
 " Ah ! dear mother," returned the daughter, affection- 
 ately, " it is gratifying to hear you talk thus you who 
 have suffered so much to see you so resigned to the will 
 of Hhn who holds our destinies in his hand ; for did you 
 indeed repine, I am sure my reason would desert me. But 
 still, for all, dear mother, I cannot restrain these tears 
 tears that come to relieve the overcharged soul and I 
 thank my God I can weep. You are sick, dear mother 
 you are suffering, perhaps with the pangs of death and 
 yet without aught to relieve you with no kind friends but 
 your own unfortunate children to shed a tear or feel an 
 emotion for your fate ! And we, alas ! cannot assist you. 
 Look around this desolate apartment, and say, can I help 
 but weep ? It is cold, and dismal, and our scanty fire is 
 going out. Oh ! mother," she cried, with a new burst of 
 grief, " you are dying for want of the ordinary comforts 
 of life!" 
 
 " But I trust all will be better soon, my sweet Virginia ! 
 Edgar, you know, has gone to see his uncle, who, however 
 unmindful of our necessities he may have been, will surely 
 not reject his petition, when he learns our present condi- 
 tion." 
 
 "Hope for nothing there, mother hope for nothing 
 from him !" rejoined the other ; " for he who was so base
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 29 
 
 as to rob us of all we had, and then so shamefully deceive 
 us, is devoid of all pity." 
 
 " Well, well, my child, do not despond, for God is good, 
 though man be base. Is it not most time for Edgar to 
 return ? I wish he would come for I I feel very 
 weak ;" and her voice died away to a whisper. 
 
 Virginia sprang to her feet with a look of alarm. 
 
 " Oh, mother !" she cried, wildly, observing a marked 
 change in the features of the invalid a kind of deathly 
 sinking about the eyes, and a lividness around the lips ; 
 " Oh, mother ! dear mother ! you surely are not dying ?" 
 
 For a few moments Mrs. Courtly vainly struggled to 
 speak. At last she gasped, rather than said : 
 
 " I I trust not, Vir-gin-ia ; but I am very we 
 weak and and feel strangely." 
 
 " Oh God !" burst from the terrified Virginia. " Dying, 
 and no one by ! Heaven help me ! Oh, merciful Father, 
 help me ! Oh, you must not die, mother!" she continued, 
 wildly. "Pray take something to revive you! Here," 
 she cried, seizing a small tin cup that rested on the table, 
 and hurriedly applying it to the lips of the other, " take 
 a draught of water!" 
 
 Poor creature ! God help her ! it was all she had to give. 
 
 With a slight motion of the hand, the invalid waved it 
 away, saying in a feeble tone : 
 
 " I wish Edgar would come. Ah ! how dark it grows ! 
 Has the candle gone out, Virginia?" 
 
 "No, mother, it is still burning, but feebly." 
 
 " Then my sight must be failing, for I can hardly see." 
 
 " Oh, this is terrible !" shrieked Virginia, sinking upon 
 her knees, and burying her face in' the miserable covering 
 of the bed. A groan from the sufferer made her again 
 spring to her feet. " Are you dying, mother," she asked, 
 wildly ; " really dying, think you?" 
 3
 
 30 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 "Alas!" sighed the other; "that is more than I can 
 say. I feel strangely perhaps the hand of death is OD 
 me." 
 
 Virginia instantly caught hold of her hands. They felt 
 cold. She then tried her temples and feet. They were 
 cold also. Then she began chafing different parts of her 
 body, while her own bosom heaved with emotions too deep 
 for language to express. While thus occupied, there came 
 a rap upon the door. 
 
 "Ha!" exclaimed Mrs. Courtly, with something like 
 returning animation, " God grant it be Edgar !" and as 
 Virginia sprang forward to give him admittance, she added, 
 in an under tone, " for I would see him again ere I depart 
 to return no more." 
 
 " And how is mother now ?" were the first words Edgar 
 spoke, as he crossed the threshold. 
 
 " Alas! I fear she is dying," whispered his sister. 
 
 " Dying !" cried Edgar, and with one bound he stood 
 beside the bed of his mother, and would have embraced 
 her, only that he remembered in time that his garments 
 were dripping wet. 
 
 " I am glad you have come, Edgar," spoke Mrs. Courtly, 
 in a very weak, husky tone, "for I was afraid I should 
 never behold you again." 
 
 "Are you then so much worse, dear mother?" inquired 
 Edgar, in a tremulous voice, striving to master his feelings 
 so as not to appear agitated. 
 
 "Yes, Edgar," was the reply ; " mortal aid, I fear, can 
 avail me nothing now. I feel the hand of death upon me. 
 My sight has already failed me. I cannot see you. Give 
 me your hand. And now yours, Virginia ;" and as they 
 both silently complied, she continued ; 
 
 "My dear children, you must not weep and mourn for 
 me, for you know I shall be better off in the land to which
 
 THE HOUSE OP DEATH. 31 
 
 I am hastening. True, I could have desired to live longer, 
 to comfort you with my counsel in these your darkest 
 hours of adversity but it is not permitted, and I will not 
 murmur. You know what is right and proper; and I 
 trust, when I am gone, you will not swerve from the path 
 of duty and rectitude. However sorely you may be tried, 
 and God alone knows to what extent that will be, I beseech 
 you, with a dying prayer, never to do wrong ! never to be 
 led from the path of virtue into- that of vice ! I knbw 
 you will have many temptations before you will have 
 examples of how the wicked prosper but still be firm to 
 your dying mother's injunctions, and all will in the end be 
 well. My children, I charge you, with my last breath, to 
 value honor and virtue more than life ! I would say more, 
 but my strength is failing me so fast I cannot." 
 
 While speaking, both Edgar and Virginia stood gazing 
 upon the countenance of their dying parent in silence, but 
 with breasts heaving with feelings too deep and potent for 
 the pen to record. As she ceased, Edgar exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh ! mother ! do not say you are dying ! Perhaps it 
 is only a' faintness a want of food or of some reviving 
 cordial. Cheer up, dear mother! you shall have every 
 thing. I am rich now, dearest mother. I succeeded in 
 my errand. See here ! I have my. uncle's check for a 
 thousand dollars ;" and he held the paper up before her. 
 
 "Then you will not starve, my children, God be 
 thanked!" cried Mrs. Courtly, fervently, with energy. 
 " I can die happier now for the thought. But it comes 
 too late for me for already I stand on the brink of 
 death." 
 
 " Nay, mother, perhaps not. Stay ! something must be 
 done ! I will run for a physician. I know I shall not be 
 refused when I show this." 
 
 As he spoke, he turned hurriedly away, and darted to
 
 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 the door to execute his purpose, but the feeble voice of hia 
 mother arrested his progress. 
 
 " Stay, Edgar," she said ; " stay, I implore you ! for 
 if you leave me now, you will never behold me again on 
 earth. I am more and more convinced every moment that 
 I am dying that I shall speedily pass away." 
 
 Edgar slowly returned, and again taking her hand, the 
 manly tears he could no longer restrain, followed each 
 other mournfully down his anguished features ; while his 
 sister, placing her head on her mother's pillow, sobbed 
 aloud. It was a heart-rending and dismal scene. 
 
 Without the winds did fiercely blow- 
 Within were desolation wo. 
 
 For a few moments no voice broke the cheerless mono- 
 tony of the driving storm. Then the invalid feebly said : 
 
 "Kneel, my children, and pray?" 
 
 Both silently obeyed; and as they arose from their 
 knees and bent over their mother, each drew back with a 
 start. The next moment a wild shriek from Virginia told 
 the fearful tale. 
 
 Their mother was dead. During that prayer her spirit 
 had passed away gone from earth returned to God who 
 gave it.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE LIVING MOURNERS. 
 
 IT is a terrible thing to be alone in spirit. To fe&l, 
 while surrounded by a multitude, there is not a single 
 heart vibrating in sympathy with your own. To feel you 
 are encompassed by cold, heartless strangers ; that there 
 is no tie to bind you to earth; no inducement for you to 
 cling to a life already burdensome, unless it be the solemn 
 dread of the uncertain change in throwing off thjs 
 "mortal coil." How many have felt thus! How many 
 still feel ! How many have stood beside the bed of death 
 and seen the eyes that ever looked bright on them, close ; 
 the lips which murmured in their last action naught but 
 words of hope and comfort to them, sealed forever ; the 
 breath which seemed the Promethean spark of their own 
 existence, cease ; and the soul, which was the life of their 
 life, wing its flight for aye beyond the shores of time ; and 
 felt that their last and only friend was eternally gone to 
 that realm whence no mortal power can summon back. How 
 many have felt thus, and in their anguish and despondency 
 have sunk down and prayed that God would soon let them 
 follow. Millions have felt thus ; millions still feel ; and 
 millions unborn shall suffer yet the same. The world is 
 full of misery. There is no such thing as unalloyed hap- 
 piness here. Our very joys derive their chiefest pleasure 
 from the strong contrast they present to our sorrows the 
 while our heaviest sorrows are lightened by the joys built 
 on the hopes of the future. Perhaps it is this variety 
 3* (33)
 
 34 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 - 
 
 his sunshine and storm that gives to life its greatest zest 
 
 its fairest attractions ; for it is a well established fact, 
 we can only know pleasure from having experienced pain. 
 
 It was thus, but not wholly thus, with Edgar and Vir- 
 ginia. They were alone in the wide world, yet not wholly 
 alone. They had each other to live for, each other to 
 weep for, each other to pray for, each other to console. 
 But still they were as lopped branches from the withered 
 trunk. Their mother, their only parent, in whom the 
 deepest affections of both centered, was dead ; and their 
 young hearts felt anguish-stricken and desolate. They felt 
 and knew she at least was better for the change ; and yet, 
 though they prized her happiness above their own, they 
 wept passionately, bitterly, their irreparable loss ; for such 
 is the selfishness of even the most unselfish of mankind. 
 
 It was a sight to wring the heart of a stoic, to behold 
 them stand, on that ill-fated, gloomy night, by the corpse 
 of her whose whole soul in life had breathed naught but 
 love and tenderness, and vainly implore her in touching 
 accents to look upon them once more to let them again 
 hear the sound of her sweet, beloved voice while the only 
 answer Yeturned was the seemingly fiercer howl of the 
 Storm Spirit. Oh! who shall tell the anguish of that 
 youth and maiden, as they grasped the hands of her they 
 best loved in life, and passionately pressed them to their 
 hearts but found them cold and inactive found them 
 give no pressure in return ! 
 
 For a few minutes after the sufferer had breathed her 
 last, both Edgar and Virginia occupied themselves as just 
 described ; and then, finding too truly she was dead, the 
 latter threw herself upon the corpse, and again and again 
 kissed her cold livid lips, and wept, and groaned, and 
 sobbed alternately ; while the former, sinking upon a seat, 
 buried his face in his hands, and rocked to and fro like a
 
 THE LIVING MOURNERS. 35 
 
 strong oak shaken by the tempest. For a time he wa,sf 
 unable to shed a tear, and his heart crept to his throat andl^ 
 almost strangled him, and his brain seemed parched and 
 withered. In this state he arose and paced the floor for 
 some minutes, during which the working of his features 
 showed that his soul was on the rack of agony the most 
 intense. At last, greatly to his relief, he- burst into 
 tears, and again seating himself, for a long time he wept 
 freely. 
 
 An hour passed, and both Edgar and Virginia had 
 become more calm. In sooth, the latter had lain herself 
 down by the corpse, and with one arm thrown over its 
 breast, and her face partly buried in the clothes, and cried 
 herself into a kind of dreamy stupor, from which she only 
 aroused occasionally to draw a long, sobbing breath. 
 Edgar, on regaining somewhat his former composure, 
 approached the bed, and bending over his much loved 
 sister, gently whispered her name ; but finding she took no 
 heed of him, he resolved not to disturb her ; and reseat- 
 ing himself near her, he took a hand of the corpse in his 
 own, and was soon lost in a painful revery. 
 
 An hour and then another went by, and still Edgar sat 
 as before, motionless and silent, with features so rigid, that, 
 but for his breathing, he might naturally enough have been 
 mistaken for one of the dead himself. Meanwhile the sob- 
 bing of Virginia had become less and less frequent, until 
 at last her breathing announced that, for a short time, she 
 had forgot her trouble in a quiet sleep. Again arousing 
 himself, Edgar now arose, and collecting all the loose 
 clothes he could find, gently spread them over his sister; 
 and then bending down, and pressing his lips to her fore- 
 head, softly murmured : 
 
 " God bless thee, thou sweet but fragile flower, and let 
 thy sleep be long, that some misery may be spared thee!"
 
 86 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 1*and then taking his position as before, he remained the sad 
 ^ and lonely watcher of the night. 
 
 Towards morning the storm abated ; and though shiver- 
 ing with the cold, for his garments had not been changed 
 and the fire had long since gone out, Edgar, overcome by 
 fatigue and excitement, at last dropped off into a feverish 
 slumber, constantly broken by sudden starts, and as 
 constantly renewed by exhausted nature. And thus 
 passed that eventful night. 
 
 The gray of morning was just streaming through the 
 dingy window and crevices of the old hovel, as Edgar, 
 arousing himself with a start and shaking off his drow- 
 siness, turned to his sister. Much to his gratification he 
 found her still asleep ; and again stealing a kiss and press- 
 ing his lips to the cold cheek of his mother, he sallied 
 forth to procure fuel and food, and make arrangements for 
 the last sad rite he would ever be called" upon to perform 
 for her who had given him existence. By this time the 
 storm had ceased entirely ; but still it was cold and damp, 
 and the pavements slippery with ice. Only a few persons 
 were abroad in the street, and most of the houses were 
 closed, and looked as cold and cheerless as he felt at 
 heart. 
 
 Moving on for a square and a half, Edgar came to a 
 small, miserable looking grocery, (numbers of which can 
 be seen at all times in all parts of New York, where a lit- 
 tle of every thing is kept and doled out to the poor in any 
 quantity, from the value of a cent upwards,) the owner of 
 which was just taking down his shutters, preparatory to 
 his morning's sale. Here Edgar knew he could procure 
 every thing he desired at the present, even to a few sticks 
 of wood, or a small measure of coal ; and approaching the 
 grocer, a rough, coarse looking Dutchman, he said, 
 blandly ;
 
 THE LIVING MOURNERS. 37 
 
 " I wish to purchase a few necessary articles, and in the 
 .course of the day will call and settle for them." 
 
 The Dutchman shrugged his shoulders and gave him a 
 contemptuous look, as he replied : 
 
 " I never trusts nopodys, and den nopodys don't never 
 sheats me." 
 
 " But, my good sir," pursued Edgar, reddening, " I do 
 not intend to cheat you. I will call, I pledge you my 
 honor, and pay you every cent between this and night. J! 
 have a check about me for a large amount, which, as 
 soon as business opens in Wall street, I will have cashed, 
 and then I can settle for a thousand times the value of all 
 I now require." 
 
 "Vare you lives?" queried the Dutchman; and as 
 Edgar informed him, he continued: " Vy you has der 
 sheck and not der moneys ?" 
 
 " I only procured it last night, and have not since had 
 an opportunity of disposing of it." 
 
 " What for den you wants der trusts now ?" asked the 
 still unsatisfied grocer. " Vy you don't vaits till you sells 
 him, and comes mit der cash ?" 
 
 "Because," answered Edgar, humoring him, in the hope 
 he would grant his request, "it is necessary I should have 
 a few articles now. My home is entirely devoid of every 
 thing one needs. My poor mother (and here in spite of 
 himself his eyes became filled with tears, and his voice 
 faltered and grew husky,) last night breathed her last in this 
 abode of wretchedness, without fire, food, or medicine for 
 our last cent had been expended and its purchase exhausted 
 and now my poor sister, whom I have left alone with her, 
 will sorely suffer, unless I procure something immediately." 
 
 The Dutchman shook his head with a frown, as he 
 rejoined : 
 . " It won't do. You tells a goot story quite petter ash
 
 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 nopody else ; but it ish all a tarn lie, mit der sheck and all 
 You tries again, and somepody ash don't know much, yop 
 makes believe him. You shust go, mit your dead motter 
 and shister, and your great sheck, vich you haint got more 
 nor as I, mitout you stole him ;" and saying this, the hard- 
 hearted grocer turned his back on Edgar, and coolly pro 
 ceded to finish taking down his shutters. 
 
 For a few moments, Edgar stood as one stupified with 
 amazement, at the gross insult to himself, coupled as it was 
 with such cool indifference. Then his hand clenched, his 
 teeth closed tightly, his lips quivered, his eyes flashed fierce 
 indignation, and he took a step forward, with the full 
 determination of punishing the other for his insolence ; but 
 then, bethinking himself he would only become involved in 
 a quarrel which, to say the least, would now be most 
 imprudent he turned away, muttering : 
 
 " Such is the selfish, uncharitable world and why should 
 I quarrel with what I cannot alter ! Oh, why was I born 
 to come in contact with such base spirits ! God of the 
 orphan and friendless, protect and direct me! for wild 
 thoughts are busy in my brain, and my heart seems turning 
 to stone, like those of the wretches around me." 
 
 In a few minutes Edgar had entered another of these 
 miserable groceries, where he met with the same success as 
 before, with the exception that the owner simply refused to 
 trust, without further insulting him. Sadly dispirited and 
 chagrined, he tried another, and still another, but in each 
 met the same cold reply all refused to credit his tale 
 and he slowly retraced his steps to his desolate abode, 
 overwhelmed with grief, crushed in spirit, and nearly heart- 
 broken. 
 
 "I must perforce wait," he said, bitterly, "till I can 
 procure the means to satisfy their uncharitable, avaricious
 
 THE LIVING MOURNERS. 39 
 
 natures. But poor, poor Virginia! how she will suffer;" 
 and he groaned at the thought. 
 
 As he said this, he felt for his check, to be certain he 
 still had resources to depend upon. To his surprise it was 
 not where he expected to find it. Alarmed at this, he made 
 an eager search of his garments ; and then, who shall judge 
 of his dismay and horror, when he discovered it was missing 
 that his last and only stay of support, in this his most 
 trying hour, was gone. - 
 
 "Oh, God!" he groaned, "if that be lost, what will 
 become of us ?" and almost maddened with excitement, he 
 hurried back to his wretched abode, in the hope he might 
 there find it. 
 
 The door was slightly ajar ; and as he rushed into the 
 chamber of death, he found Virginia bending over the 
 corpse of her mother, wringing her delicate hands and 
 weeping bitterly, while beside her stood a female, but a few 
 years her senior, striving by gentle words to console her. 
 
 " Do not weep and take on so, fair girl 1" he heard 
 uttered as he crossed the threshold. 
 
 " Oh, Edgar, my dear brother !" cried Virginia, as she 
 heard his step ; and springing forward, she threw her arms 
 around his neck, buried her face upon his bosom, and 
 sobbed grievously. 
 
 " My poor, sweet Virginia !" murmured Edgar tenderly, 
 straining her to his heart, while his eyes grew dim with 
 scalding tears. 
 
 " I heard her cry of agony, sir," said the strange female, 
 apologetically, " and thinking it some person in sore dis- 
 tress, I hurried to her relief, which accounts for my presence 
 here." 
 
 "For which God bless you!" returned Edgar, in that 
 deep, earnest, passionate tone which carries with it the 
 unmistakable evidence of sincerity.
 
 40 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 The visiter gave him one heartfelt look of gratitude, and 
 then, much to his surprise, covered her eyes with her hands, 
 sunk into a seat and burst into tears. Before Edgar could 
 ask for an explanation of this singular conduct, she rose, 
 and hastily wiping her eyes, as if ashamed of her emotion, 
 Said, in a sad, earnest, tremulous voice : 
 
 " You are surprised to witness this strange ebullition of 
 feeling; but, air, it is a long time since I have heard God's 
 blessing invoked upon my guilty head ;" and again in spite 
 of herself, the tears pressed through her eyelids. 
 
 Edgar looked kindly but sadly upon her ere he made a 
 reply ; and even Virginia for the moment forgot her own 
 grief, and, turning her head, beamed upon her guest a 
 curious but tender expression from her soft blue eyes, which 
 touched the other to the very soul. Both she and her 
 brother now instantly became aware that their guest 
 belonged to that class of poor unfortunates whom the world 
 takes pride in despising, rather than reclaiming, the while 
 it harbors and pampers the damnable villains that make 
 them what they are. 
 
 She had once been a lovely creature ; but though scarcely 
 turned of twenty years, there was a sad look of grief, and 
 care, and heart desolation in her appearance. Her once fine, 
 noble looking features were pale and almost haggard, and 
 her bright dark eye had lost some of its wonted brilliant 
 lustre. Still she was handsome, though in a measure the 
 wreck of what she had been. Her features were fine and 
 regular, and there predominated over all an expression of 
 feeling, of sympathy with the sorrows of others, and a 
 kind benevolence which rendered her an object of interest 
 and pity to such as could properly appreciate these high- 
 born qualities. Her complexion was an olive ; and her hair, 
 Dlack and shiny as the raven's plume, was neatly parted 
 and arranged with care, though the loose wrapper she wore,
 
 THE LIVING MOURNERS. 41 
 
 told she had just risen and had not yet completed her morn- 
 ing toilet. 
 
 " And you, too, fair lady, have felt the wrongs of man- 
 kind most bitterly !" said Edgar, in a soothing, sympathetic 
 tone, accompanied with an expression in keeping with the 
 words he uttered. 
 
 "Suffered!" returned the other, shuddering at the 
 thought; "yes, I have indeed suffered, and God only 
 knows how much." 
 
 " Then," rejoined Virginia, tenderly, " we can the better 
 sympathise with one another, for we have felt the bitterest 
 pangs of wo." 
 
 " Oh, no, not the bitterest, I trust !" returned the other, 
 with energy ; " not the bitterest. You have felt not the 
 excruciating pangs of a guilty conscience ; for I can see, 
 by your open, generous countenance, you have suffered 
 innocently that the oppressive weight of guilt is not on 
 your stainless soul, weighing you down to the lowest depths 
 of degradation." 
 
 " No, thank God !" returned Virginia, " I have as yet 
 been spared that." 
 
 "And well may you thank God," rejoined the other, 
 with spirit ; " for all the other ills of this life are nothing 
 to compare with it. Once, sweet lady, I was as good and 
 pure, perhaps,, as yourself; but the tempter came, and 
 (here her voice grew tremulous, and she turned away her 
 head to conceal her emotion ) and in an unguarded 
 moment I fell; and now " She paused, and then sud- 
 denly added : " But of what am I thinking, to trouble you 
 with my sorrows, when you have such weighty griefs of 
 your own to contend with ;" and she glanced mournfully 
 toward the bed, where still lay the corpse of Mrs. Courtly, 
 as she had breathed her last the night before. 
 
 " My mothef!" burst frqm Virginia, while the tears gushed 
 4
 
 42 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 forth afresh ; and approaching the bed she knelt on the 
 floor, took one of the cold hands of the corpse in her own, 
 pressed it to her lips, and then seemed lost in prayer. 
 
 Both Edgar and the stranger gazed upon her in solemn 
 silence, each busy with painful thoughts ; till at length she 
 arose, and turning to her brother, in a calmer mood than 
 she had hitherto exhibited, said : 
 
 "And why did you leave me, Edgar, without telling 
 me you were going ? and where have you been ? I awoke, 
 and not finding you here, and seeing my dead mother by 
 my side, I felt so wretchedly desolate, that in my anguish 
 of spirit I uttered the cry of agony which brought this 
 kind lady to me." 
 
 " I thought I should return ere you awoke," answered 
 Edgar; " and I went for fuel and food. But I failed -to 
 get either," he continued, bitterly, "because the cold- 
 hearted wretches to whom I applied would not sell to me 
 without the money, and that you know I had not. And 
 that reminds me," he added, with a start, "that I have 
 missed the check of my uncle, my sole dependence now, 
 without which we must starve. Did I not drop it here on 
 the floor last night? Have you not seen it, Virginia?" 
 and he began an eager search of the apartment, assisted 
 by his trembling sister. 
 
 "Alas ! what will become of us now !" he groaned, as, 
 after a fruitless search, he gave up in despair, and sinking 
 hopelessly upon a seat, covered his face with his hands, as 
 if to shut out the dread contemplation. 
 
 "If it be money you need," said his guest, "thank 
 Heaven ! I can assist you, and will, if you will accept my 
 poor offering. Here ! here !" she pursued, with vehemence, 
 drawing forth her purse ; " here is gold ; take it, take it, 
 I .beg, I implore of you ! for it will be a relief to my con- 
 science to feel I have done one good act."
 
 THE LIVING MOURNERS. 43 
 
 "No ! no ! I dare not take it," returned Edgar, mourn 
 fully, motioning her back with his hand; "for I might 
 never be able to repay you." 
 
 " The deed will repay itself," pursued the other, ener- 
 getically, thrusting it upon Edgar. " The gold is valueless 
 to me ; and if it will ease one sorrow of yours, I shall feel 
 myself tenfold rewarded." 
 
 " God bless you, lady !" cried Virginia, springing for- 
 ward and seizing her hand, which she bathed with grateful 
 tears : " God bless you ! for whatever your faults may 
 have been, you still possess some of the holiest attributes 
 of the angels." 
 
 " There ! there !" rejoined the other, affected to tears ; 
 " say no more ! you praise me far beyond my deserts." 
 
 " It may possibly be in my power at some future time,'" 
 Said Edgar, rising, and speaking in a voice made husky by 
 deep emotion, " to repay this overwhelming debt of kind- 
 ness ; and if so, rest assured that my very life will be at 
 your command. Your generosity " 
 
 "Enough! enough!" interrupted the other. " Say no 
 more, I beg of you ! for you have more weighty matters 
 to think of at present, and I am fitter for the scoffs and 
 jibes of mankind than such words as these. Your mother 
 must be laid out and interred ; and then you must leave 
 this wretched, filthy abode, which is no place for such as 
 you. I will send those to you who will rightly perform 
 the last sad ofiices to her mortal remains. Meanwhile, 
 procure such things as you need, and if you desire more 
 money, let me know. My residence is just over the way, 
 in yonder brick building. Adieu for the present. I will 
 soon be with you again, and superintend the laying out of 
 the corpse myself. Here is my card ;" and placing it in 
 the hands of Virginia, which she pressed with warmth, she
 
 44 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 hurried out of the apartment, as if fearful of being 
 detained by further expressions of gratitude. 
 
 Both Edgar and his sister turned to the card, and 
 beheld simply the name of Ellen Douglas, written in a 
 plain, neat hand. 
 
 It is unnecessary for us to longer dwell upon this painful 
 scene. Suffice it, therefore, that Ellen kept her word with 
 regard to the funeral arrangements of Mrs. Courtly ; and 
 that, ere the sun had sunk to rest, her -remains were fol- 
 lowed to their last resting place by a small group, composed 
 principally of the clergyman, Ellen, and the chief mourn- 
 ers, the latter of whom bedewed her humble grave with 
 tears, as she was being buried forever from their sight.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE PAST RECALLED. 
 
 ERE we proceed further with our story, it is important 
 we should touch somewhat upon the past, in order to show 
 the train of circumstances which placed some of our cha- 
 racters in the position they occupied when introduced to 
 the reader. In doing this we shall endeavor to be 
 as brief as possible, well knowing that, to most, long 
 details of such matters prove excessively tedious. To 
 begin then at the beginning, let us go back some twenty- 
 five years, to the marriage of Ethan Courtly and Mary 
 Atherton, the parents of Edgar and Virginia. From 
 some remarks dropped by Edgar to his uncle, recorded in 
 the opening chapter, the reader has already had an inkling 
 of what is to come ; but still there are many things not 
 jet mentioned, which, as a faithful chronicler, we deem it 
 our duty here to set forth. 
 
 At the time the marriage in question took place, Mary 
 and her brother were orphans, living on a small estate 
 bequeathed them by their father, who had died a year or 
 two previous, and who had himself been a widower some 
 three or four years. Their place of residence was near a 
 small village in the state of Maryland, distant about thirty 
 miles from the city of Baltimore. But notwithstanding 
 they remained on the farm or plantation of their late 
 Father, we wofcld not have the reader infer they were want- 
 ing in the graces and accomplishments of refined society. 
 On the contrary their doating father had taken every pains 
 4* (45)
 
 46 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 to give them both an education and polish superior to those 
 ju by whom they were surrounded. Oliver had entered college 
 very young, and graduated in his twentieth year ; and Mary 
 had left boarding school a ripe scholar at the age of six- 
 teen. In fine, so lavish had been the expenditures of 
 their father on them, that he had much impoverished his 
 small estate, and besides encumbering a part with mort- 
 gage, had been obliged to dispose of all his negroes but 
 two, in order to liquidate the more pressing debts. 
 
 At his death, Oliver took charge of the estate, and, by 
 close management, and a sale of a few acres succeeded in 
 raising the mortgage, and becoming sole proprietor ; for, 
 though his sister was entitled to a portion, he took no 
 other notice of her claims, than to ofier her a home so long 
 as she might remain unmarried. 
 
 Mary was not well pleased, for the disposition of her 
 brother was illy suited to render her happy. lie was 
 morose and haughty to those he considered his dependents, 
 or held in his power, though fawning enough to his supe- 
 riors, or such as he expected by hypocritical manoeuvres 
 to profit by. He was, withal, very ambitious, grasping, 
 and avaricious so that those who knew him best, shunned 
 him as they would a viper, and scandalized him Lnuch 
 whenever his name chanced to be mentioned. But he had 
 a faculty of making his dupes think him perfect; and 
 those on whom he had a design, who had as yet only seen 
 the bright side, could not be brought to believe that the 
 refined, soft-spoken, smiling, agreeable young Atherton, 
 could be the base hypocrite men reported him. No ! it 
 was wilful, malignant slander, to injure a high-minded, 
 honorable young man; and their sympathies being aroused 
 in consequence, they were only the more fully and blindly 
 drawn into the net he had prepared for them, and which 
 they seldom if ever discovered until too late to escape.
 
 THE PAST RECALLED. 47 
 
 He was a man without principle, who would stoop to any 
 meanness to accomplish his end ; though, to casually see 
 and hear him converse, one would suppose him the very 
 quintessence of nobleness and honor. 
 
 The first thing that sorely troubled Mary, and opened 
 her eyes to his real nature for having both been sent to 
 school at an early age, she had seen little of him until her 
 return was his importuning her to inveigle and marry 
 some rich young man ; and this, too, ere their father had 
 been six months in his grave, and while she was deeply 
 mourning his death. 
 
 "Now, do not have any false notions, Mary," he would 
 say to her, "but follow my instructions, and you will soon 
 be mistress of a splendid mansion. I have several acquain- 
 tances who are rich, and, though a little wild, that need 
 not matter, for they will be the easier entangled, if the 
 card be rightly played, and be the less likely to look close 
 into the affair afterwards ; and so you get plenty of money, 
 and live in elegant style, what need you care ? Come ! I 
 will invite them here, and trust me, I will soon see you 
 settled as becomes my sister." 
 
 N At first -Mary thought him in jest, and laughed at his to 
 her curious ideas of what should make a proper husband ; 
 but discovering 'soon her mistake, she mildly reproved him 
 for being so worldly, and firmly declared she would not see 
 his friends alone, much more listen to any proposals of the 
 nature he required, even should they be never so strenu- 
 ous in urging suit. In vain her brother sought, by all the 
 false reasoning he could invent, to turn her from her 
 resolve. The more he importuned, the firmer she grew; 
 until at last, so repugnant became the subject to her feel- 
 ings, and so andent her desire to convince her brother she 
 would never relent, that she took a solemn oath, calling 
 Heaven to witness, she would never, knowingly, marry a
 
 48 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 man of wealth. Oliver, who had seen enough of his sister 
 to know she would keep her vow, now let the matter drop, 
 and appeared to acquiesce in her decision though in 
 reality he was secretly laying a plan to entrap her, by 
 introducing to her a young man of wealth, and concealing 
 from her the fact. This plan he put in execution ; and the 
 young man apparently proving an agreeable suitor, the 
 affair seemed likely to terminate as he desired. 
 
 Month upon month rolled away, and still the friend of 
 Oliver paid his"visits regularly to Mary ; and, as is usual 
 in such cases, Rumor, with her thousand tongues, said it 
 would be a match. Oliver was delighted that his scheme 
 was about to succeed ; and on the strength of it. he bor- 
 rowed of his intended brother-in-law a large sum of money, 
 by which to prosecute a suit of his own, in Baltimore, with 
 an heiress. 
 
 But there were two persons who had no faith in the 
 reported marriage ever taking place. One of these was 
 Mary herself, and the name of the other has already been 
 mentioned in these pages, and will soon occur again. With 
 Mary's ostensible lover, it also . began to grow doubtful ; 
 for whenever he asked the important question, she would 
 always desire further time to consider. At last he grew 
 desperate, and said he vould not be put off any longer ; 
 that she must answer Yes or No at the end of a week, 
 which he further granted her of his own accord. She 
 calmly replied, that if he would call a week from that 
 night, he should have her positive answer. 
 
 At the time appointed the young man came, and was 
 handed a note by the servant, which contained a direct, 
 though respectful, refusal of his hand. Chagrined at this, 
 he sought young Oliver, who had been the means of bring- 
 ing him there, and who had often encouraged his addresses, 
 by telling him his sister was passionately in love with him.
 
 THE PAST RECALLED. 49' 
 
 When Oliver saw the note, he became very much enraged, 
 and inquired for his sister. The servant said she had that 
 evening gone out with the village schoolmaster, Ethan 
 Courtly. 
 
 "By !" cried Oliver Atherton, stamping his foot 
 
 in a paroxysm of anger, " I see it all. I thought that 
 young scape-grace, whom I have frequently seen here of 
 late, was after no good. They have eloped ! My horse ! 
 my horse! I must overtake the runaways." 
 
 But Oliver, and his friend who accompanied him, proved 
 too late. Ere the former found his sister, she was the law- 
 ful wife of Ethan Courtly ; and cursing her in the most 
 vindictive language he could invent, and swearing roundly 
 he would ever* after disown her, and sometime be revenged, 
 he turned upon his heel, and, accompanied by his friend, 
 departed in haste. 
 
 Greatly were the good people of Sandville for so we 
 will call the village astonished at hearing of the runaway 
 nuptials of Ethan Courtly and Mary Atherton ; for so 
 cautiously had both managed, and so blindly had all given 
 credenpe to the report of her engagement with another, 
 that the news fell upon them like a thunder bolt. 
 
 About a year previous to this marriage, Ethan Courtly, 
 a young man of education and enterprise, had come to the 
 village of Sandville and opened a school, which was soon 
 crowded with pupils. Born in the land of puritans glori- 
 ous old New England he had been educated with correct 
 principles, which he took care ever to display, and by 
 which he won the admiration and esteem of all who knew 
 him, and consequently soon became a favorite with all the 
 good citizens of Sandville. To make a long story short, 
 he met and was introduced to Mary Atherton ; and fancy- 
 ing her more than any other he had ever seen, he sought 
 her society, and soon made known to her his regard for
 
 50 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 herself. To his great delight, he found a cordial recip- 
 rocity of feeling; but was told that if he wished to 
 succeed, he must keep the matter wholly to himself, and 
 appear indifferent about her society, in order to avoid 
 arousing the suspicions of Oliver, whom Mary knew would 
 oppose any thing like a marriage, even by violence if 
 necessary, simply because young Courtly had not wealth 
 to recommend him. To cloak still farther this novel and 
 clandestine courtship, Mary permitted the visits of her 
 brother's friend, and even allowed the report of her 
 engagement with him to go abroad without contradiction. 
 1 Thus matters went on to the terminus, which has already 
 been seen, and on which it is unnecessary for us to dwell. J 
 
 Immediately on his marriage, Courtly gave up his school 
 and removed with his wife to Baltimore, where, with the 
 little capital he had prudently saved from his earnings, he 
 opened a small retail store. Every thing he undertook 
 prospered with him, and in a few years he had greatly 
 enlarged his business, and was known and respected as a 
 wealthy merchant. He purchased a handsome residence 
 in the environs of the city, where, with his wife and two 
 children, Edgar and Virginia, he lived in as perfect happi- 
 ness as it is possible for a mortal to enjoy. 
 
 Meantime, Oliver married the heiress to whom allusion 
 has been previously made, but found, soon after, to his 
 disappointment and rage, that she was literally worth 
 nothing, and that to pay the debts he had contracted on 
 the score of expectancy he would now be obliged to 
 dispose of the homestead estate. The result of the whole 
 matter was, that both he and his wife having married for 
 money rather than love, each supposing the other the 
 fortunate possessor of half a million, now became greatly 
 dissatisfied with each other, quarrelled often, and finally, 
 after the birth of two children, a son and a daughter,
 
 THE PAST RECALLED. 51 
 
 mutually agreed to separate, the father taking the son and 
 the wife the daughter. It was now, that, impoverished 
 and generally despised by all who knew him, Oliver Ather- 
 ton, the cunning villain, bethought him of his sister, with 
 envy of that very happiness he had once so strenuously 
 sought to prevent. 
 
 But why should he not reconcile himself with her, he 
 mused, and so peradvcnture get an opportunity to feather his 
 own nest ? His sister and her husband were both persons 
 of frank, unsuspicious natures ; and a little duplicity, a 
 few penitential tears, and a heart-broken look, would per- 
 haps accomplish all. It was at least worth the trial ; for 
 should he succeed, perchance his fortune would be made. 
 
 Thus reasoned the worldly man ; and, to be brief, he did 
 make the trial ; and, alas for his victims ! succeeded but 
 too well, as has already been shown in the pages preced- 
 ing. With an oily tongue, and an honest, sanctified look, 
 the mask which best conceals a devilish heart, Oliver man- 
 aged to ingratiate himself with his brother-in-law, until 
 the latter would as soon have thought of doubting holy 
 writ as one word he might utter. 
 
 From a schoolmaster and a small retail dealer, Ethan 
 Courtly had now 'become a wholesale merchant, and owner 
 of one or two vessels, and part owner of half a dozen 
 others, which sailed from Baltimore and the different ports 
 of the Union ; and, at the head of his affairs, almost sole 
 manager, he placed the hypocrite and villain, Oliver Ather- 
 ton. 
 
 Time rolled on, and still every thing prospered, until 
 the period of which we are now about to speak say some 
 five years previous to the opening of our story. Without 
 entering into particulars, it will only be necessary to state, 
 that at this time Ethan Courtly made arrangements to 
 embark on one of his own vessels for a foreign clime, but
 
 52 . THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 with the intention and expectation of returning to his 
 beloved family -within a twelve-month from setting sail. 
 Before he departed Oliver was very strenuous in urging him 
 to make his will ; against which he remonstrated, by saying 
 he did not deem such a proceeding necessary, as in case 
 he died intestate, of course the property would fall to his 
 rightful heirs, which was all he desired. But the wily 
 schemer, after much quiet reasoning, gained his point, as 
 in fact he ever did with his single-minded brother-in-law, 
 and was deputed to employ a lawyer, and have all settled 
 in due form. 
 
 It is needless to say more than that the will was drawn, 
 attested, and placed upon record the day previous to the 
 departure of Ethan Courtly. 
 
 We now skip a period of five months, during which 
 Oliver Atherton assiduously attended to the affairs of his 
 absent relative ; when suddenly, with the shock of a thun- 
 derbolt falling from a cloudless sky, there came the painful 
 intelligence that the Mary Helen, on which Ethan Courtly 
 had embarked, had been wrecked off the coast of France, 
 and that every soul aboard of her had perished. 
 
 We pass over the effect of this news upon Mrs. Courtly 
 and her children, both of whom were recalled from school 
 to bitterly mourn the loss of a beloved and indulgent 
 parent. 
 
 On the receipt of the tidings regarding the sad fate of 
 his brother-in-law, Oliver Atherton, went into mourning ; 
 and with a pale, sanctimonious face, and eyes made red 
 by wiping, if not by weeping, managed to appear the most 
 disconsolate of mourners ; so much so, that it was often 
 remarked by those who knew not the heart of the dissem- 
 bler, that he must have loved his relative dearly to take 
 his death so hard. 
 
 After a proper time given to sorrow,. Oliver notified his
 
 THE PAST RECALLED. 53 
 
 sister that it would now be necessary to have the estate of 
 his dear brother Ethan settled according to law, and that 
 as he was aware the deceased had made a will, it would 
 be proper to have it brought forward and read. To this, 
 of course, Mrs. Courtly assented ; but judge of her astonish- 
 ment, and that of her friends, on learning that, out of the 
 vast estate of her late husband, only five thousand dollars 
 had been bequeathed to herself and children ; while the 
 remainder, amounting at the least calculation, to many 
 hundred thousand dollars, including the splendid home 
 mansion, had been bestowed upon Oliver with the proviso, 
 that should he die childless, it must revert to Edgar and 
 Virginia and their issue or, in case of their demise with- 
 out issue, to the next heir or heirs at law. 
 
 Surprised and shocked as she was at this stunning intel- 
 ligence, Mrs. Courtly doubted not it was all correct ; and 
 believing that her late husband, whom she completely 
 idolized, had had a proper motive for what he had done, 
 and that it would all prove for the best in the end, she never 
 once attempted to dispute the claim of Oliver, or break 
 the will and sue for her thirds, as all her friends advised 
 her to do. 
 
 " No," she would say, in answer to the many solicita- 
 tions that she would do so and so ; " Ethan knew what was 
 best, and far be it from me to alter what he designed. My 
 happiness consists in conforming to his desires." 
 
 Finding her determined on the matter, her friends soon 
 ceased to importune her, and Oliver had it all his own 
 way. Knowing it required the most skilful management 
 to effect his avaricious purpose, without wounding the 
 sensitive nature of his sister, he redoubled his grief and 
 duplicity, and went about bemoaning to her his hard fate, 
 in being obliged to dispose of this thing and that, to carry 
 out the desires of his dearly beloved brother, and always
 
 54 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 ended by saying, that when the estate should have become 
 properly settled, he would give her a deed of the home- 
 stead, and settle upon her an independency for life. This 
 promised providence for her future wants satisfied Mrs. 
 Courtly, and she saw her fine home sold over her head, 
 without a murmur, firmly believing her brother would keep 
 his word, and in due time restore her all. In sooth, 
 though she knew her brother had once been very worldly- 
 minded, yet of late years he had been so guarded in her 
 presence, so sanctimonious and demure, that she, poor 
 woman, now truly believed there had been a wonderful 
 reformation at heart. 
 
 It was at least a year or more from the reported death 
 of Ethan Courtly ere Oliver Atherton had settled every 
 thing to his satisfaction. By this time, estates, ships, 
 negroes, goods, and chattels, each and all, had been dis- 
 posed of; and with the money they brought, in his posses- 
 sion, Oliver informed his sister that she might now remain 
 contented in her home ; that all had been arranged to her 
 desire ; and that he, with his wife and children, with the 
 first of whom he had now become reconciled, were on the 
 point of leaving for New York, where they hoped to have 
 the pleasure of her society occasionally. 
 
 Thus they parted : and never for a moment did Mrs. 
 Courtly doubt the word of her brother, until notified, 
 about six months after he had left, that she must vacate 
 the premises she then occupied, as the mansion, appurte- 
 nances, and grounds had been purchased by a gentleman 
 who was now desirous of taking immediate possession. 
 For some time Mrs. Courtly could not be brought to 
 believe her brother had acted so -base and ungrateful a 
 part ; and she at once wrote to him, asking an explanation. 
 After considerable delay she received an answer to the 
 effect that he was very sorry to say the matter of sale was
 
 THE PAST RECALLED. 55 
 
 true ; that he had done it to oblige a friend, who had set 
 his heart upon having that residence ; but that to compen- 
 sate his sister, he was already negotiating for a residence, 
 every way its superior, which, in case she resolved to 
 come to New York, he would certainly purchase and pre- 
 sent her. 
 
 For the first time the truth flashed upon Mrs. Courtly, 
 that both she and her lamented husband had been the blind 
 dupes of an artful and ungrateful villain ; and so sudden, 
 powerful, and heart-sickening was the shock of this convic- 
 tion, which she gained on reading his letter, that, clasping 
 her forehead and staggering back, she sunk senseless to 
 the ground, and a delirious fever followed, which nearly 
 cost her her life at the time, and from the effects of which 
 she never fully recovered. 
 
 We must now hurry to the close of this history, which 
 we fear has already become tedious to the reader; but 
 with which, notwithstanding, it was all important he should 
 be made acquainted. 
 
 For a long time Mrs. Courtly did not answer the epistle 
 of her brother. As soon as able, she quitted her once 
 loved home, with a breaking heart, yielding it up to 
 strangers, and seeking a more humble abode for herself 
 both her children now being at school and she fully deter- 
 mined to spend every cent, if necessary, in giving them 
 what could not take wings and fly away a good educa- 
 tion. 
 
 And it did take every cent ; and at last Mrs. Courtly 
 was obliged to recall Edgar and Virginia, for want of 
 means to longer support them abroad. Two years now 
 passed ; and then, reduced almost to beggary, she wrote 
 to her brother, detailing her wants, cares, and anxieties* 
 Having waited a long while, and receiving no answer, Mrs. 
 Courtly determined on proceeding to New York herself.
 
 56 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 and making an appeal to him in propria personse. To 
 carry out this design, she sold her few remaining effects, 
 and with the proceeds set out on her journey, accompanied 
 by Edgar and Virginia. We have not space here to follow 
 her through all her weary trials and disappointments, after 
 her arrival in New York, up to the moment she was 
 brought before the reader ; but suffice, that, to her horror 
 and despair, she found herself disowned by him from whom 
 she expected aid ; and, in a strange land, among strangers, 
 cast upon a cold, heartless world, and doomed to suffer all 
 the misery an innocent being can feel. Several times did 
 Edgar call up^fl his uncle and ask for aid but always to 
 be insulted and refused ; and even the negro servant, once 
 his father's slave, now began to pride himself on his 
 equality with the poor relations of his present master, as 
 has already been shown by his conduct and language in 
 the opening chapter. Vainly did Edgar seek for employ- 
 ment from day to day. Nothing could he obtain, for the 
 reason that, having done nothing through life, he could 
 not bring experience to back his suit. Day by day did 
 the Courtlys find themselves becoming more and more re- 
 duced for though very economical now, every little they 
 spent made a wide breach in their limited means. To 
 render matters still worse, the health of Mrs. Courtly 
 began to fail rapidly ; and it soon became painfully evi- 
 dent to her children, that unless a great change took place 
 for the better, they would ere long be orphans. 
 
 But notwithstanding her ailings, Mrs. Courtly would not 
 consent to see a physician, because of the extra expense 
 which would thus be incurred, and which they were now so 
 illy fitted to bear. As it was, they were obliged to dispose 
 of their jewelry, old family relics, and finally the greater 
 part of their wardrobe, to pay their rent and procure the 
 necessaries of .life. Even these failed them at last ; and
 
 THE PAST RECALLED. 57 
 
 only a few days previous to our introduction of them to the 
 reader, their stony-hearted landlord seized upon and sold 
 their furniture, and turned them into the street, with only 
 a few remaining articles. The hovel where we found them 
 seemed the only retreat now open; and into this they 
 gathered their remaining effects, preferring even this to 
 begging for a better. Their last cent was now soon spent 
 for fuel and food, and the reader has seen even the last of 
 these. The health of Mrs. Courtly now failed more and 
 more rapidly, until exhausted nature could sustain her no 
 longer ; and suffering from cold, dampness, want of food, 
 proper nursing and medical attendance, together with grief, 
 care and anxiety for her children, she literally died of 
 starvation and a broken heart.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 
 
 THE day following the funeral of Mrs. Courtly, saw 
 Edgar and his sister located in small but comfortable lodg- 
 ings, some three or four squares from their previously 
 wretched abode. This was effected at the instance of Ellen, 
 who insisted they should at once remove to better quarters, 
 and for this purpose generously provided them with further 
 means to do so. She had many delicate scruples to over- 
 come in effecting this change ; for though excessively in 
 need, Edgar was naturally very proud, and could not bear 
 of being under further pecuniary obligations to one on 
 whom he had no claim ; nor would he, in fact, have con- 
 sented to the arrangement at all, but for his sweet sister, 
 whom it sorely wrung his heart to behold suffering the pangs 
 of poverty. For himself he knew he could provide in some 
 way but what meantime would become of Virginia ! and 
 this the generous Ellen used as a plea for him to accede to 
 her proposition. It was galling, too, to one bred in the 
 affluence he had been, to be indebted to the wages of sin 
 to money earned by guilt for the bettering of his condi- 
 tion ; but poverty and circumstances are many times 
 powerful combatants of sensitive scruples, and so they 
 proved in the present instance. 
 
 " I will accept her aid as a loan," he at last said, " until 
 
 kind Providence furnishes me with the means of repaying 
 
 the debt with interest for beggars must certainly not be 
 
 choosers and without this assistance, now that my check 
 
 (58)
 
 PLANS FOR THE FUTUKE. 59 
 
 is irrecoverably lost, starvation stares us in the face. And 
 why," he further reasoned, " should I decline the means 
 which doubtless Heaven has placed in my way for a wise 
 purpose ? Who knows but in accepting, I shall eventually be 
 the instrument in the hands of Providence, of reclaiming an 
 erring one from the perdition to which she is fast hasten- 
 ing?" 
 
 Having thus settled the matter in his own mind, he went 
 zealously to work, and a couple of hours search put him in 
 possession of two very pleasant rooms, located in the 
 second story of a small private dwelling on Elizabeth street, 
 to which access could be had by a flight of stairs from without 
 so that he was as much secluded from a forced contact with 
 others as if occupying the entire premises. Hither he at 
 once removed his sister, and what little furniture was still 
 remaining ; and then by a judicious purchase of a few 
 second-hand articles in Chatham Square, among which was 
 a carpet for the floor, he succeeded, at a very small outlay, 
 in giving the apartments an air of comfort and tidiness, to 
 which both himself and his sister had of late been strangers 
 and which contrasting with their previously wretched 
 abode, made the present one seem a paradise. Edgar next 
 purchased a few groceries and some fuel, *and Virginia pre- 
 pared the evening meal for by this time the day was drawing 
 to a close and as they sorrowfully partook of their first 
 morsel since breaking fast in the morning, and thought of 
 their poor, dead mother, no longer with them to share their 
 griefs or joys, both wept freely, in silence but wept as 
 those who, not altogether despairing, feel there is some- 
 thing still to live for as those who have some hope in the 
 future, and believe that day is again dawning upon a night 
 of rayless gloom. 
 
 Poor, bitterly wronged orphans ! Who can sum up and 
 realize their misery, without experience of the same kind !
 
 60 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 Alone upon the wide world, without home or friends, and 
 indebted to the charity of a frail female stranger for bread 
 to keep them from starvation ! And these, too, they who 
 once rolled in all the luxury wealth can give, whose hands 
 were never soiled by labor, and whose exalted position in 
 society ever held them aloof from the mercenary, coarse 
 and vulgar minds with which they must now be brought in 
 contact. Do not let the reader here misunderstand us, by 
 supposing we intend to convey the idea that they were bet- 
 ter for never having labored. No, Heaven forbid ! for labor 
 is ever honorable, while indolence is reprehensible. We 
 only design to portray more strongly the suffering they 
 must perforce endure, from the great contrast of their 
 present with the past. 
 
 For a long time both thought and wept in silence, neither 
 intruding an observation upon the grief of the other. 
 Edgar was the first to speak. Rising from the table, after 
 having ate sparingly, he approached his sister, and throw- 
 ing an arm around her neck and drawing her gently to 
 him, said, tenderly : 
 
 " Let us try to weep no more, my sweet sister ! Let us 
 dry our tears, and prepare, like philosphers, to enact our 
 parts, and pass through the ordeal of fate without a mur- 
 mur. Life at the longest is not long, and death will come 
 at last to relieve us of our sorrows." 
 
 " But Edgar," sobbed Virginia, " I am thinking of our 
 dear, dear mother." 
 
 " I know it, sweet sister, and so am I. But the thought 
 has struck me, it is very wrong to mourn for one who has 
 exchanged our wretchedness for the happiness of Heaven." 
 
 " Ah !" sighed the other, " I see I am selfish ; for it is 
 not so much for her I mourn, as for myself; not for her 
 loss, but my own. Oh ! how we both will miss her sage 
 advice and prayerful counsel !"
 
 PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 61 
 
 " But she is in heaven," pursued Edgar. " Let that 
 thought be uppermost, and dry your eyes. I would not 
 recall her if I could for she, at least, drank sorrow to the 
 dregs, and should forevermore be spared the bitter cup." 
 
 After a pause of a few minutes, during which Virginia 
 gradually became more calm, Edgar resumed : 
 
 " And now, my sister, let us speak on another subject, 
 but one I fear scarcely less painful. By the kindness of 
 one I can never forget, we have been enabled to exchange 
 utter wretchedness and starvation for something like com- 
 fort ; but still the very thought of how this has been effect- 
 ed, gives me pain. To think we have taken money, earned * 
 by guilt, to better our condition, is revolting to my nature ; 
 and I can never rest until it be returned, and she who so 
 generously assisted us be reclaimed. To effect the 
 former, I must seek and find employment, with wages n>ore 
 than sufficient to support us ; while the latter I leave to 
 you ; and let us both set about our tasks with a right good 
 will, and energies that will not allow us to fail. To-morrow, 
 early, if God spares my life, I shall make a bold move. 
 Surely, in this great city, supporting its three hundred 
 thousand inhabitants, there is something I can find where- 
 by to gain an honorable living. True, I x have tried before 
 and failed ; but that is no reason I must again ; and some- 
 thing whispers me I shall succeed. So cheer up, my sweet 
 sister ! for it is an old saying, the darkest hour but barely 
 precedes the dawn. To-morrow, probably, while I am away, 
 Ellen will be here to see you ; and you must use your best 
 abilities to induce her to quit the terrible life she is at pre- 
 sent leading. Begin with her gently and feelingly, as you 
 best know how, and gradually progress until your righteous 
 purpose be accomplished which done, I shall feel that we 
 have not wholly lived in vain." 
 
 "Ah! dear brother," cried Virginia, with a burst of
 
 62 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 affection, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing 
 her lips to his, " how much you are like our dear, dear 
 mother, in your counsels ! I will do all you ask of me, 
 and ten times more if it be in my power. Poor Ellen. If I 
 can be the humble means of reclaiming her, filling her 
 heart with happiness again, I feel I can then smile at my 
 own misery, and thank God it has been for some useful end. 
 But more than this, dear brother, I must assist you. I, too, 
 perhaps, can find employment " 
 
 "Nay," interrupted Edgar, "I could not see you labor. 
 I could not see your delicate constitution broken down by 
 toil, and thus prepared for an early grave. No, Virginia, 
 you were never bred to work, and it would kill you." 
 
 " And you, Edgar you who have been brought up in the 
 game manner as myself how then will you bear it ?" 
 
 " I am a man, Virginia, with an iron constitution, and 
 am by nature fitted for the rough scenes of life at least 
 far more so than you. No, no, Virginia leave all to me ; 
 I can provide for both ; but to see you toil would render 
 me miserable." 
 
 In like conversation the evening passed away Virginia 
 insisting it was her duty, in their altered circumstances, to 
 assist her brother, and he contending to the contrary most 
 strenuously. At an early hour both retired to rest, and 
 with the gray of the morning both were again astir. 
 Making a hasty breakfast, Edgar kissed and bade his sister 
 be of good cheer in his absence as in all probability he 
 would return with welcome tidings and then sallied forth 
 to seek employment in the great metropolis, prepared to 
 put his hand to any honest pursuit that W9uld return a fit- 
 ting recompense. 
 
 As yet the sun had scarcely risen ; but still the great 
 city was swarming with citizens, mostly of the laboring 
 class, all pushing forward to their daily task some with
 
 PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. G3 
 
 pale, sickly, sorrowful visages, and some with countenances 
 cheerful and gay each an index of the heart within. Ven- 
 ders of all kinds were abroad, each loudly crying his 
 particular article of traffic, which, from long hahit, had 
 become rather a peculiar discordant scream, than any sound 
 or word a stranger might find intelligible. Omnibusses, 
 hacks, drays, coal-carts, bread-carts, market- wagons, and 
 numerous other kinds of vehicles, rumbled over the stony 
 pavements, blocked up the crossings, occasionally startled 
 the foot-passers, and thundered out the fact that the busi- 
 ness of the day had truly begun. 
 
 As Edgar slowly pursued his way down the Bowery into 
 Chatham Square, down Chatham Street toward Park Row, 
 and noted that every one he met seemed to have some 
 employment, either present or prospective, he thought to 
 himself how happy was their condition compared with his, 
 who had nothing but trouble to occupy his mind. Ah ! 
 little did he know that many who passed him with rapid 
 steps, were hurrying to a daily task, that, while it was 
 literally crushing them, under its iron burthen, barely 
 returned a pittance sufficient to keep soul and body together. 
 Little did he know that those who seemed better off than he, 
 were dying by inches under excessive t toil, that the poor 
 beings they loved, and who were solely dependent on them, 
 might eke out a miserable existence. Little did he know 
 this, or he might have been more contented with his own 
 situation, trying as it was, and felt he had less cause to 
 complain than they. We are too prone to think our own 
 troubles and afflictions the most severe ; and this because 
 we know and feel our own, while those of others are wholly 
 shut from us. 
 
 For a long time Edgar could not summon resolution to 
 ask for employment at the different places where there 
 seemed a possibility of his obtaining it, lest he should be
 
 64 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 refused in a way to wound his sensitive feelings. And then, 
 what occupation should he ask for ? and what experience 
 or recommendation could he hring to aid him, even should 
 the services of one like himself be desired? He had 
 done nothing through life, a*hd consequently knew no more 
 of one business than another ; but the fancy struck him, 
 that could he obtain a place as salesman in some kind of 
 a store, he could easily make himself useful and give satis- 
 faction to his employer. With the design of seeking some- 
 thing of this kind, he passed the various shops of traffic, 
 with many a wistful look, but still without venturing within 
 to make the necessary inquiries. At last, after traversing the 
 entire extent of Chatham street and Square for the third 
 time, and knowing that nothing would ever be accomplished 
 in this way, he made bold to address a middle-aged gentle- 
 man, who was standing in the door of a furniture ware-room. 
 
 " Sir," he said, " can you inform me where a young man 
 like myself can find employment?" 
 
 " What to do ?" asked the other. 
 
 "Any thing that is honorable." 
 
 "For the matter of that," returned the other, "almost 
 any thing is honorable that a body can make a living at 
 these times. Did you ever act as salesman ?" 
 
 " I never have, but think I could soon give my employer 
 satisfaction." 
 
 " Umph ! perhaps. You look like a young man of good 
 address. I suppose you can write !" 
 
 " Certainly," answered Edgar, promptly ; " I have been 
 blessed with a good education." 
 
 " Can bring good references, I suppose ?" 
 
 ''Why, unfortunately," replied Edgar, coloring, "I am 
 a stranger in the city, and have no friend here to refer 
 to." 
 
 "Umph! that's bad !" rejoined the other. "So much
 
 PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 65 
 
 cheating going on now-a-days, so many dishonest persons 
 about that one don't like to take a stranger into one's ser- 
 vice without knowing something ahout him. Now if you 
 only had experience, and good references, and could come 
 here at six in the morning and work till nine and ten at 
 night, and do every thing that would be asked of you, with- 
 out grumbling, I have no doubt you would suit me, for just 
 such a person I want, and would be willing to pay such an 
 one good wages. But as you are deficient in at least two 
 of these requisites, why, I suppose I shall have to look fur- 
 ther." 
 
 " And suppose I were all you desire, what would be my 
 salary ?" asked Edgar. 
 
 " Why, in that case, I can afford to be rather liberal ; 
 and say you boarded yourself, allow you from two and a 
 half to three dollars per week at least through the busy 
 season." 
 
 " And this you call liberality ?" returned Edgar. " God 
 help the poor!" and he walked away with a desponding 
 heart. . 
 
 For an hour or more Edgar traversed the streets in a 
 very unpleasant state of mind, ere venturing on a second 
 application. And when at last he did make another trial, 
 it was only to meet with a result similar to the first. Grown 
 somewhat desperate and less sensitive through failure, Edgar 
 now determined, that in case he did not succeed, it should 
 not be his fault, and consequently went boldly to work, 
 pushing his suit wherever there seemed a possibility of 
 success. For hours he pursued this course ; but meeting 
 every where with disappointment, and being nearly over- 
 come with fatigue and anxiety, he finally gave up in des- 
 pair ; and strolling into Tammany Hall, threw himself 
 down upon a scat, with the air of one who feels his last hope 
 nas departed. 
 
 G
 
 GC THE FOKGED WILL. 
 
 " It is no use to longer strive," he muttered despomlingly. 
 " I can accomplish nothing. I am doomed to fail where 
 others succeed. Oh ! why was I born ! Mother, thou saint 
 in Heaven, I would I were with thee ! Come, Death ! 
 dread monster as thou art called thou terrifying Invisible 
 come here and strike ! strike to the heart at once ! and 
 thou shalt behold a rare sight a human face that will not 
 blanch a human form that will not tremble at thy sum- 
 mons." 
 
 As he said this half aloud, his eye chanced upon a news-, 
 paper lying on a seat beside him ; and mechanically raising 
 it, he glanced over the columns in a listless manner, as one 
 who reads while the mind is occupied with other matters. 
 For several minutes he sat gazing upon the paper, some- 
 times distinguishing a word, and sometimes beholding the 
 letters all blurred and indistinct. At length something 
 appeared to arrest his attention for he straightened him- 
 self up, drew the paper nearer to him, while his eyes 
 brightened, and no longer exhibited a vacant stare. The 
 cause of this change in his appearance, was an advertise- 
 ment which read as follows ; 
 
 * " POETS, ATTENTION ! A gentleman requires a poetical 
 address, for a certain purpose, for which, if suitable, he 
 will pay handsomely. The length, subject, and remunera- 
 tion will be made known to applicants. Address C. B. E. 
 office." 
 
 Edgar was by nature a poet, and in his leisure hours 
 had written some beautiful stanzas, which his modesty had 
 thus far concealed from the public. His talents in this 
 line he had never thought of turning to account until now. 
 
 "Perhaps!" he exclaimed, with an energy that drew 
 many eyes upon him: "Perhaps !" and immediately pro- 
 curing pen, ink, and paper, he wrote a few lines and left
 
 PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 67 
 
 in haste for office, where he deposited the note, 
 
 superscribed in accordance with the advertisement. Having 
 done this he departed, with the intention of returning 
 home ; but he had scarcely gone fifty yards, when a hand 
 on his shoulder arrested him, and turning, he beheld an 
 elegantly dressed gentleman, with the billet he had just 
 deposited, open in his hand. 
 
 " I beg pardon !" said the stranger, blandly ; " but have 
 I the pleasure of addressing the writer of this, Edgar 
 Courtly ?" 
 
 " That is my name, at your service," returned Edgar, 
 with a graceful and dignified inclination of the head. 
 
 "I chanced to be in the office and saw you leave it, 
 addressed to my initials," pursued the other, explanatory, 
 "and hastened to overtake you, that the matter in ques- 
 tion might be the more speedily arranged." 
 
 "I am most happy, sir," rejoined Edgar, "to make your 
 acquaintance so much sooner than I anticipated." 
 
 "I perceive by this," continued the gentleman, whom 
 we shall call Elmer, pointing to the epistle, " that you 
 have had experience in poetical composition." 
 
 "I have written some little," replied Edgar, blushing; 
 "but perhaps I am incompetent to perform what you 
 require." 
 
 " That," rejoined Mr. Elmer, " must be decided here- 
 after. I am, as you must know, an actor, at present fulfill- 
 ing an engagement at the Park. One week from to-night 
 my engagement closes the last prior to my departure for 
 Europe. Now what I desire is this : I wish to take leave 
 with a poetical address of from seventy-five to one hundred 
 lines, expressive of my feelings." Here he explained, 
 explicitly, what he wanted, and wound up by saying : 
 " And now for the best address of this kind, sent me
 
 68 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 \vithin five days, I am willing to pay the sum of fifty dol- 
 lars certainly, to my thinking, a liberal remuneration." 
 
 " It is indeed !" returned Edgar, much excited at the 
 prospect of obtaining the reward. " Sir, I will do my best 
 to please you." 
 
 "But I must warn you of competition," pursued the 
 other. " I have had several interviews with poets already, 
 each of whom has promised a trial, and I shall perhaps 
 have many more, so that he who gains the prize must do 
 so by merit alone." 
 
 On hearing this, the "countenance of Edgar somewhat 
 fell for he thought to himself, " What chance have I 
 among so many ? But then," he reasoned, " I can but fail 
 at the worst, and may succeed in which event " here 
 his feelings becoming powerfully excited, he hastily in- 
 quired the residence of Elmer, shook his hand, and turned 
 away, with the observation that he would soon hear from 
 him again. 
 
 With a fluttering heart, palpitating between hope and 
 fear, Edgar hurried through the crowded streets, heedless 
 of all he met or passed, his mind occupied with one joyful 
 thought, that, of cheering the drooping spirits of his sweet 
 sister with his new hopes and expectations. Arrived at 
 his new home, he sprang lightly up the stairs and into his 
 own apartments, expecting to take his sister by surprise. 
 
 The next moment he felt a chilling sensation creep over 
 him a sensation as awful as the coming of death. Where- 
 fore the cause ? 
 
 The rooms were tenantless his sister was gone and 
 echo alone answered to his call.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND. 
 
 THROWING himself upon a seat, in a state of mind full 
 of alarm and strange misgivings, insomuch that he soon 
 found himself in a profuse perspiration, Edgar 'sought to 
 invent a cause for the absence of Virginia. It was so 
 singular she should absent herself while he was away, 
 and leave the house .unfastened. Surely she could not 
 have gone far, and would soon return ! Somewhat con- 
 soling himself with this idea, he waited rather impatiently 
 for her appearance, hoping and expecting every moment 
 she would enter ; but .as minute after minute glided by, 
 and no Virginia came, he began to grow alarmed in ear- 
 nest, and rising from his seat, paced rapidly to and fro the 
 apartment. At length, when a half hour had passed, 
 bringing no intelligence of the missing one, the excitement 
 of Edgar had reached such an intensity, that he could no 
 longer content himself in remaining idle. Something had 
 happened, he felt sure, and his heart fairly sunk within 
 him at the thought. Rushing down the stairs with the 
 haste of a madman, he made eager inquiries of the people 
 living in the lower story, and of whom he rented his apart- 
 ments. But they could give him no satisfactory informa- 
 tion. They had seen his sister go out about an hour and 
 a half before, alone, taking the direction of the Bowery, 
 and that was all they knew. 
 
 It was past the hour of noon, and Edgar was fatigued 
 and hungry ; but forgetting every thing but his sister, 
 6* (69)
 
 70 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 whom he somehow fancied was lost, he darted away in 
 search of her. Fortunately, he had not to go far, ere, to 
 his great joy, he met her returning, accompanied by a 
 young man of genteel appearance, who walked respectfully 
 by her side, carrying a small bundle wrapped with paper. 
 Edgar was not surprised at this, for he fancied she had 
 been shopping, and that the purchased articles were being 
 sent home as is customary. 
 
 "0, Virginia!" he exclaimed, springing forward, and 
 seizing her hand, " how could you so alarm me ! For the 
 last half hour I have been on the rack of agony. Why 
 could you not have deferred this business till my return ?" 
 
 " I thought to give you a gentle surprise," replied Vir- 
 ginia ; " expecting, when I left, to return before you ; but 
 I have been disappointed, and shall not again attempt the 
 like, for already my folly has found a punishment." 
 
 "As how?" queried Edgar, eagerly. 
 
 " 1 have been insulted." 
 
 "Insulted!" repeated her brother; and his dark eyes 
 flashed angrily upon the stranger. 
 
 " Nay," interposed Virginia, divining his thoughts, " not 
 by him, Edgar. This gentleman has proved my deliverer." 
 
 " I crave pardon, sir !" said Edgar, quickly, changing 
 his manner, and cordially extending the other his hand. 
 "Let me thank you in my sister's behalf, and trust we 
 may be friends !" 
 
 "The latter most certainly!" returned the young man 
 with warmth, and a hearty shake of the hand; " but as to 
 thanks, I know not that one deserves them for simply 
 doing his duty. I saw this lady annoyed by one whom I 
 had reason to suppose entertained evil intentions, and I 
 hastened to her protection. You should have seen how 
 the offender slunk away as he beheld my visage, with a 
 half uttered apology and look of shame for well he knew
 
 AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND. 71 
 
 me and I him though for various reasons I hardly feel 
 myself at liberty to give his name at present. I could not 
 again leave the lady unprotected, and so am I here." 
 
 " But how happened this, Virginia ?" eagerly inquired 
 Edgar. 
 
 " I cannot tell you here," answered Virginia, somewhat 
 excited. " Let us first go home, it is but a few steps, and 
 I wilh explain all." 
 
 Here the stranger was about to take his leave, but Edgar 
 and Virginia both insisted he should accompany them, and 
 accordingly all proceeded, to the house together. 
 
 " And now," said Virginia, with a bright flush, that 
 heightened the beauty of her lovely features, " I will tell 
 you, dear brother, how it all happened, if you will promise, 
 before you hear my story, to pardon any error I may have 
 committed." 
 
 "My pardon I know" you will have," answered Edgar, 
 " no matter what you have done, and so I may as well 
 grant it first as last. Proceed !" 
 
 " Well, then, you must know, as I have before told you, 
 I thought to give you a gentle surprise, and for this pur- 
 pose determined, according to my argument last night, to 
 render you what assistance I could in the way of earning 
 a living." 
 
 " But, Virginia " 
 
 " Do not interrupt me, and do not frown, for you know 
 I have your pardon already. Well, half the night I pon- 
 dered on what I could do, and this morning was still un- 
 decided, when I chanced to see a woman pass, carrying a 
 bundle of shirts. Accosting her, I learned that she was 
 making them for a large manufacturer, whose address 
 she gave me. I thought to myself I could do as well as 
 she ; and as soon as she was gone, I hurried round to the 
 place, expecting to return within half an hour. The result
 
 THE FORGED AOLL. 
 
 is, I succeeded in getting some work to do ; but not until 
 I had been kept waiting a full hour, and had been ques- 
 tioned as closely as if I were a thief. Several times I was 
 on the point of indignantly leaving but then I thought 
 of you dear brother, and felt, after all, it was little to 
 endure for your sake." 
 
 "And what were you to get for all this labor?" asked 
 Edgar. 
 
 " A dime for each shirt," replied Virginia. 
 
 " And how many do you fancy you could complete in a 
 day?" 
 
 " One, at least." 
 
 " One, my sweet sister ! And you would work off your 
 fingers, dim your eyes and ruin your health, for the paltry 
 Bum of a dime a day, and all to aid me ! God bless you, 
 dear Virginia, for a noble soul ! but I cannot allow such 
 a sacrifice. Thank Heaven ! I have brighter prospects 
 in view, of which I will tell you anon. A dime a day !" 
 he pursued ; " how pitiful ! And yet I suppose there 
 are hundreds perhaps thousands forced to toil for even 
 this." 
 
 "Indeed there are, sir!" chimed in the young man, who 
 on his way hither had given his name as Dudley, and 
 learned those of his new acquaintances in return : " Indeed 
 there are, Mr. Courtly ; thousands, who are not only forced 
 to toil for this meagre sum, but are glad to get even this, 
 to keep them from starvation." 
 
 " Ah ! what a world !" sighed Edgar, musingly. " What 
 a mighty contrast ! It does not seem as though we all had 
 one Heavenly Father, as our divines inform us from the 
 pulpit we have. Alas! God help the poor!" 
 
 "Ay," rejoined Dudley, "God help them indeed! for 
 He is all the friend they have to look to."
 
 AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND. 73 
 
 "But you have not finished your story, Virginia," said 
 Edgar, turning to her. 
 
 "While waiting for work," resumed Virginia, "and 
 passing the ordeal of rather insulting interrogatives, I 
 noticed a gaudily dressed fellow loitering about the door, 
 who occasionally stared at me in an ungentlemanly manner ; 
 but I thought no more of it, until, having regained the 
 street and gone a few yards, I found him walking by my 
 side. Thinking it accidental, I slackened my pace that he 
 might pass; but to my indignant surprise, I found he 
 suited his to mine. He then requested permission to carry 
 my bundle, as he was going the same way. I coldly 
 thanked him and informed him I had no occasion for his 
 services. 
 
 " ' But you must, my angel,' he said. 
 
 " ' Sir !' returned I haughtily, coming to an abrupt halt, 
 'you are insulting! Go your way, and leave me to go 
 mine.' 
 
 " * Ton my word,' he answered, with a leer, * you talk 
 prettily, and are really too lovely to walk the streets alone. 
 Come, let us be companions.' 
 
 "'Leave me!' I cried, indignantly; 'for you are no 
 gentleman.' 
 
 "'Ay, leave, sir begone!' said a voice behind me; 
 and turning, I beheld this gen a I should say Mr. 
 Dudley, since we have become slightly acquainted," con- 
 cluded Virginia, blushing modestly. 
 
 " Of which acquaintance," chimed in Dudley, gallantly, 
 with a polite bow to Virginia, " I am most proud, and sin- 
 cerely trust it may be of long duration." 
 
 " The feeling is mutual, I assure you," responded Edgar. 
 And then he added, apologetically : " We were not always 
 as we are now, sir. Born to wealth, we never knew the 
 want of money until after our father's death, when our uncle,
 
 74 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 his manager, came into possession of nearly all his pro- 
 perty, as I have strong reason to believe most villainously." 
 
 Here Edgar proceeded to briefly sketch some of the 
 prominent events of the past five years, winding up with 
 an account of his last visit to his uncle, the manner in 
 which he obtained the check and its subsequent loss, 
 together with the death of his mother, adding at the 
 conclusion : 
 
 " And now, sir, I must say, I feel I have been almost 
 too confiding to one so late an utter stranger ; but there is 
 a something in your countenance and manner, which, step 
 by step, has drawn me on to the full revelation." 
 
 "I thank you, Mr. Courtly, for the high compliment 
 thus paid me," returned Dudley, warmly; " and assure you, 
 you will never have cause to regret your confidence as mis- 
 placed. But a question, if I may be permitted to ask one ; 
 for since you have told me your story, I feel a deep interest 
 in your welfare, and will do all in my power to aid you. 
 Will you give me the name of your uncle?" 
 
 Edgar mused a moment, and then said : 
 
 " I do not know why I should withhold it. It is Oliver 
 Atherton," 
 
 "What! the millionaire!" cried Dudley in surprise: 
 " Oliver Atherton, the millionaire ! Is it possible ? No, 
 it cannot be there must be some mistake !" 
 
 " Then you know him ?" said Edgar. 
 
 "But do you mean Oliver Atherton, of* street?' 
 
 " The same, Mr. Dudley." 
 
 "Know him? Ay, I know him well, and very few that 
 do not, either personally or by reputation. Why, he is 
 one of the most prominent citizens, although he has been 
 but a few years among us. There is scarcely a charitable 
 association but is indebted to him for a handsome dona- 
 tion or a charity subscription paper afloat, that is not led
 
 AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND. 
 
 off by his name, with a round sum attached. Besides, he 
 is a member of one of our most popular churches, and is 
 every where spoken of as a rich, but truly pious and bene- 
 volent gentleman." 
 
 " The hypocrite !" muttered Edgar, grindfag his teeth. 
 " 0, that I could unmask him ! but that I may never be 
 able to do for he is deep, cunning and far-reaching. Had 
 I the money I wrung from him, I would quit the city and 
 molest him no more." 
 
 " Really, I am all amazement," mused Dudley, " and 
 hardly know what to think. You say he gave you a check, 
 which you lost, and which, had you now, would relieve you 
 from all embarrassment. On whom was it drawn ?" 
 
 " If I remember rightly, John Peyton of Wall street." 
 
 "You of course have been to stop payment?" 
 
 " Good heavens !" ejaculated Edgar, with a start ; " I 
 have overlooked that." And then, after a pause, he added : 
 "But it matters not for some poor wretch may as well 
 have it as Atherton," 
 
 " But by stopping payment, and applying again to your 
 uncle, you may procure another." 
 
 Edgar shook his head. 
 
 " I would rather starve," he answered, " than again 
 enter his hateful presence as a suitor. No ! no ! let it 
 go let it go. There will perhaps be some way opened, 
 by which my dear sister and I can live without begging 
 favors of rich relations ;" and as he spoke, he threw an 
 arm fondly around Virginia, drew her to him, and pressed 
 a kiss upon her lips. 
 
 Dudley followed the movement with his eyes, and his 
 features expressed something like envy of the brother ; and 
 the color deepened on his cheeks, and those of Virginia, 
 as, at the moment, they accidentally, as it were, exchanged 
 glances.
 
 7G THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 What were the fancies, the feelings, the emotions in the 
 breasts of each, we shall not here pause to divine. Suffice, 
 that in refinement of thought and language, grace of man- 
 ner, dignity of mien and personal appearance, each was 
 well calculated to inspire the other with at least a senti- 
 ment of high regard. Mr. Dudley was what in common 
 parlance would be called a handsome man. His age was 
 about twenty-five, and in stature he was full six feet, but 
 with proportions so symmetrical as not to appear awkward 
 or over-size. He seemed formed by nature for a model, 
 with not a pound too much or too little. And then his 
 features were as comely as his person, with a forehead, nose, 
 mouth, and chin of the Grecian cast. In his countenance 
 were no sinister lines no sly curves, where a sneer might 
 lurk, or hypocrisy find a foothold. No ! all was open, and 
 frank, and honest ; and a single glance showed you he 
 was a man after God's own image. In repose, his face 
 exhibited a stern, thoughtful benevolence, as one who 
 would do a good act for the act itself, and not for the 
 reward which might accrue to the doer. Much of this 
 expression was in the eye, a dark gray, which rarely 
 changed its aspect never, unless altered by some one of 
 the strong passions of his soul. His complexion was light, 
 with brown, curly hair, that added much to his good looks. 
 Partly covering and under his chin he wore his beard 
 unshaved, but neatly trimmed, which for him was very 
 becoming. 
 
 In dress he had excellent taste. He wore nothing showy 
 or gaudy, and yet every garment was rich, and fitted his 
 person with the utmost exactness. No rings, chains, or 
 breast-pins were displayed as ornaments, he seeming to 
 fancy that nature and the tailor had done enough for him. 
 And this was a true index to his mind as in fact dress 
 generally is denoting him to be severely chaste and
 
 AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND. 77 
 
 strictly correct in principle. And in fine it was this cor- 
 rect principle which brought about his acquaintance with 
 Virginia and her brother, an acquaintance of which neither 
 party as yet dreamed the import. It was not her beauty, 
 as some might suppose, which led him to her protection. 
 No ! he saw not that till afterwards. He only saw a 
 female grossly insulted, and distressed by the attentions 
 of a villain, and he hastened to her relief; and had she 
 been old and excessively ugly, his correct principle of 
 gallantry would have caused him to do precisely as he did. 
 Not that we would imply he had no choice between ugliness 
 and beauty ; that he would have felt the same interest in 
 Virginia, had she possessed no personal charms; by no 
 means ; we only wish to say, that in the former instance a 
 Sense of duty would have urged him to do with pleasure, 
 what he now performed with greater delight. 
 
 After some further conversation of a nature similar to 
 that detailed. Dudley rose to take his leave. Turning to 
 Edgar, he took his hand and said : 
 
 " Our meeting and acquaintance, Mr. Courtly, I trust 
 may prove of mutual advantage. You may think it a little 
 strange, that, having confided to me some important secrets 
 of your life, I, in return, tell you nothing of myself. But 
 you must not think hard of me, if I reveal nothing now. 
 1 shall soon see you again, and sometime you shall know 
 more. I have my reasons for concealment. Consider mo, 
 .however, your friend; and should you need my aid in any 
 manner, have no scruples in so telling me, for it will prove 
 a pleasure to me to do you a service. Meantime, I will 
 make your affairs in some measure my own ; and depend 
 upon it, if wrong has been done you, in the manner you 
 suppose, the guilty shall be made to feel it, no matter hovr 
 lofty their station. You may think me boasting, my friend 
 but time will show ; and when time has shown, I trust 
 1
 
 78 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 you will have little cause to regret having gained my 
 friendship." 
 
 With these somewhat mysterious words, Dudley again 
 shook Edgar's hand warmly, and bowing gracefully to 
 Virginia, withdrew. 
 
 For some time after his departure, Edgar and his sister 
 conversed about the stranger, or Dudley as he had termed 
 himself ; and then the former proceeded to detail all that 
 had occurred in his absence, and the sanguine expectations 
 he had of obtaining the prize. Both were young, and, 
 notwithstanding the terrible trials they had experienced, 
 both were full of hope. Friends seemed to rise up to their 
 aid where they least expected them ; and the longer they 
 talked, the lighter grew their hearts. 
 
 Poor, bitterly wronged orphans ! Let us hope that day 
 is again dawning upon their long, dark, and dismdl night 
 of adversity.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE HYPOCRITE AND HIS TOOL. 
 
 IN the same elegant apartment where we first introduced 
 him to the reader, sat the lordly millionaire, the smooth- 
 faced, oily-tongued, hypocritical Oliver Atherton. He 
 sat in an easy chair, gazing thoughtfully into the fire 
 perhaps reflecting upon his past career, and listening to 
 the still small voice of conscience or perhaps devising 
 some villainous scheme whereby to grind the faces of the 
 poor, put wealth in his coffers, heap wrong upon wrong, 
 the while he would make the world believe him unexcep- 
 tionable in piety and benevolence. The latter most likely ; 
 for Oliver Atherton was not one to regret what he had 
 Bone, so long as he could keep his cloven foot concealed ; 
 and even in case of exposure, would care less for the crime 
 than its publicity. If the truth were all told, he had 
 many and black hearted sins to answer for; but these 
 only troubled when they menaced him. With him, as with 
 many others, crime was not in the commission, but detec- 
 tion ; and he ever took all possible means to guard against 
 the latter, by rearing a pinnacle of virtue behind which to 
 screen himself well knowing that the world looks to the 
 deed, and not the motive, which latter may be deeply 
 buried from human knowledge. For this he belonged to a 
 popular church, and, like the Pharisee of old, made long 
 prayers before his fellow-men, and wore a saint-like visage 
 of humility and attendant virtues. For this he gave libe- 
 rally to benevolent societies, where there seemed a likeli- 
 
 (70)
 
 80 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 hood his name would be publicly displayed. For this he 
 preached the virtues of a God, while he plotted vices Satan 
 might envy, and which were fast bearing him down to his 
 own damnation. Beware ! thou opulent hypocrite ! be- 
 ware ! There is a boundary to all things ; and thou of all 
 men, should'st beware thou dost not overstep thy limits ! 
 
 For a quarter of an hour, Oliver Atherton removed not 
 his gaze from the fire ; but during that time his counte- 
 nance often varied with the thoughts of his plotting brain. 
 Now his brow would contract, aftd a dark shade steal 
 athwart his features, as something seemed to perplex and 
 annoy him ; and anon his eye would softly twinkle, and a 
 peculiar smile of deep meaning usurp its place, as though 
 he had triumphed over a difficult obstacle. What his 
 thoughts were whether on a new scheme or an old one 
 we shall not pause here to investigate, but let them appear 
 for themselves in the voice of the thinker. 
 
 Ringing a small bell on the table beside him, the black 
 servant appeared in the door-way. 
 
 "Has Wesley come, Jeff?" he questioned. 
 
 " Yes, massa, him waiting," answered the negro, who, 
 notwithstanding his arrogance to Edgar, and his boast of 
 freedom, did not venture on dropping the usual term of 
 slavery-servitude, by saying mister. 
 
 " Bid him come in !" 
 
 The black bowed and withdrew, and his place at the 
 door was soon supplied by a white man, carrying in his 
 hand a green bag, who doffed his hat with deference, and 
 halted as if for an order to advance. The rich man had 
 again fixed his gaze on the fire, and for a short time 
 appeared unconscious of the other's presence. Let us take 
 advantage of this quietude, to slightly glance at the new 
 comer. 
 
 In person he was small and slender, and very ungainly,
 
 THE HYPOCRITE AND HIS TOOL. 81 
 
 both in form and feature :in the latter particular possess- 
 ing a cunning,, sinister, hang-dog look. His black, coarse 
 hair fell far over a low, villainous forehead, from under 
 which, and long black eye-brows that met over his snub 
 nose, two dark, fiery eyes gleamed out maliciously, and with 
 an ever restless expression and movement, as if the posses- 
 sor were continually on the lookout to guard against a sud- 
 den attack. To compensate in some measure, as it were, 
 for his extreme ugliness and repulsive appearance, nature 
 had endowed him with a soft, musical voice, and the faculty 
 of smiling in such a way as to win favor and conceal the 
 blackness of his heart. And this made him a dangerous 
 character; for without this mask, he was too plainly 
 marked as a villain to deceive even a novice in human 
 nature ; whereas, with it, the most experienced were some- 
 times made his dupes. lie had round shoulders, bow-legs 
 and very long arms, terminating in bony hands and fingers. 
 His age was thirty, though it might have been forty, for 
 any thing by which one could safely judge otherwise. He 
 was rather richly dressed in a suit of black, and wore a 
 gold chain and a diamond breast-pin all of which served 
 much to relieve his person of sheer ugliness especially 
 with those (and these comprise the greater portion of man- 
 kind) who look more to outward display than the inner 
 man. 
 
 "Ah, you're here!" said the plotting man at length, 
 turning his eyes upon the other. " Advance ! " and he 
 pointed to a seat beside the table. " So ! what news ?" 
 
 "Nothing particularly valuable," replied Wesley, as he 
 quietly seated himself and placed his bag on the table. 
 
 "Any thing of Wall street?" 
 
 "Nothing no." 
 
 " Strange ?" mused Atherton, glancing at the fire ; " I 
 expected something before this." 
 7*
 
 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " I did," responded the other. 
 
 " Have you seen him since ?" 
 
 "Not since," replied Wesley, who, if it were possible, 
 always answered a question by repeating the closing por- 
 tion of it. 
 
 "And why, Wesley?" 
 
 " Couldn't find him." 
 
 " Ha ! has he gone ?" 
 
 " Gone." 
 
 " The old bird, too, Wesley ?" 
 
 " The old bird, too. She's flown upward, the rest else- 
 where." 
 
 "I do not understand you." 
 
 " She's dead, then, and the others have left." 
 
 " Dead, Wesley ?" and the rich man gave a start of sur- 
 prise. "Dead, say you?" 
 
 "Dead." 
 
 "And the others have removed?" 
 
 " Removed." 
 
 " And you don't know where ?" 
 
 "Don't exactly." 
 
 "Out of the city?" 
 
 "Think not." 
 
 " Well, you must hunt him out. If in the city, mark 
 me ! you must find him. In case the first trap don't catch 
 him, we must construct another, and put on a different 
 bait. You understand, Wesley ?" 
 
 " Understand." 
 
 " He is dangerous, I fear, for he threw out some very 
 unpleasant hints. In short, he either knows or suspects 
 too much, and must be silenced. Must, Wesley," repeated 
 Atherton, with emphasis " mark you that !" 
 
 "Exactly that."
 
 THE HYPOCRITE AND HIS TOOL. 83 
 
 " And now to other matters, Did you succeed in pur- 
 chasing the Middleton property?" 
 
 " Succeeded," grinned Wesley. 
 
 "Good!" returned Atherton, smiling and rubbing his 
 hands. "And, Wesley, did the ruse take, eh ?" 
 
 "Took," nodded Wesley. 
 
 " Good again good again !" exclaimed the rich man, in 
 an ecstacy of delight rarely by him displayed. "Revenge 
 and ten thousand dollars at one stroke is rather a good hit 
 eh ! Wesley ?" 
 
 In his happiest moods, Atherton sometimes, as now, 
 threw off his usually dignified reserve, and allowed himself 
 to be rather familiar with his attorney, counsellor, agent 
 and private secretary, all of which offices Wesley filled. 
 
 " Good hit," grinned Wesley again. 
 
 " The old man," continued Atherton, with a sardonic 
 smile of deep import, " old Middleton, little dreamed of 
 the consequence of his attempt to crush me to ruin my 
 reputation, the villain ! Ah I had him. I cried him down 
 by my agents, bought his paper at a discount, and then, 
 best of all, bought his property at a sacrifice, by making his 
 title appear doubtful, and paid him in his own notes at 
 par. Well done, Oliver Atherton well done!!' This was 
 spoken in a low tone, and evidently not intended for the 
 ears of the attorney ; but the latter was sharp of hearing, 
 and he heard it, though not a single look of his betrayed 
 the fact. " What next, Wesley ?" queried the millionaire. 
 
 "AVidow Malone can't pay rent." 
 
 " Into the street with her then you know my invaria- 
 ble rule in all cases of this kind." 
 
 "I did it." 
 
 " Right ! Did she go quietly ?" 
 
 " She called you a villain cursed you." 
 
 " Humph ! that little troubles me, you know."
 
 84 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 "I know," grinned the attorney. 
 
 "What next?" 
 
 " Old Shuffler's sick and all his family wont be able to 
 pay rent, I reckon." 
 
 " Into the street with him then. Well ?" 
 
 "Mrs. Brady, whose husband was killed by a kick of 
 your horse, begs you will allow her a small sum to keep 
 her family from starvation." 
 
 " Tell Mrs. Brady to be " 
 
 " But she's noticed," interrupted the politic counsellor. 
 " Mrs Malcolm has already sent to her." 
 
 "Ah, indeed! that alters the case," said Atherton, with 
 interest. * ' It will '.be known then : I must be liberal. 
 Give her fifty dollars, Wesley. Any thing further ?" 
 
 "The New England Benevolent Tract Society wants 
 your signature." 
 
 " Curse these societies these blood-suckers of the weal- 
 thy !" ejaculated Atherton, shutting his teeth hard in 
 anger. "But there's no avoiding them, and maintaining 
 one's position," pursued the worldly man; "and so, as the 
 old adage has it, 'what can't be cured must be endured.' 
 Is this society popular, Wesley?" 
 
 " Popular," responded the secretary. 
 
 "Give five hundred dollars then. Proceed! what 
 next?" 
 
 " Done," said the other. 
 
 "Ah, done, eh!" Then musing a few moments, and 
 glancing keenly about the apartment, meanwhile, to be 
 sure there were no listeners, Atherton, in a low tone, re- 
 sumed : " Do you think he can have got any clue to the 
 truth, other than a vague suspicion, Wesley?" 
 
 " Hard telling," answered the attorney. 
 
 " You know there was but one besides you and I ; and 
 he, the prying fool, was drowned, was he not ?"
 
 THE HYPOCRITE AND HIS TOOL. 85 
 
 " Was drowned," quoth the attorney, with a slight shudder. 
 ' Well, he is dangerous, and we must be rid of him, my 
 friend ;" and the calm, cold, blue eye of the scheming 
 man fastened upon his subordinate with an expression of 
 deep, dark import. " I hope my first plan will succeed 
 if not " 
 
 Here he paused, and glanced at the other significantly, 
 who at once exclaimed : 
 
 "No, no no more blood !" 
 
 " He must be silenced, though !" pursued Atherton, in 
 a low, deep, sepulchral tone, bending over the table, till 
 his face almost touched his agent's : " you know that as 
 well as I. Should he get the upper hand, we are lost or 
 rather you are for I will make my money save me, 
 though at the expense of my reputation." 
 
 As he said this, looking full in the eye of his dupe or 
 tool, there was a glance sudden and of lightning duration 
 a glance from the latter, which made him recoil as if 
 bitten by a serpent. He looked again, but it was gone, 
 and he was fain to believe his eyes had deceived him. 
 
 " Think of it," added Atherton, after vainly waiting 
 for the other to make some reply ; " think of it, and act 
 accordingly. The inside of a prison is a dreary place ;" 
 and he waved his hand, as was customary with him, when 
 he wished to be left alone. 
 
 The attorney arose and withdrew without a word. As 
 he descended the stairs, however, there was a terrible, sin- 
 ister look on his ugly visage, and he muttered : 
 
 " He will make his money save him ! 0, ho, he will 
 make his money save him, and I am to be the victim ! 
 Thank you, Oliver Atherton, for your candor ! We shall 
 see we shall see;" and muttering thus, he quitted the 
 mansion indignantly. 
 
 Better for the man of the world that that morning's con-
 
 THE FORGED \\'ILL. 
 
 ference had not been, or that he had been more like himself, 
 less candid, further seeing, more cautious. 
 
 For a few minutes after the departure of Wesley, the 
 hypocrite riveted his gaze upon the fire, with a stern, 
 gloomy expression ; then his reverie was broken by a soft, 
 white hand being laid upon his shoulder. He looked up 
 with a start, and his countenance betrayed the presence of 
 guilty thoughts ; but on perceiving it was only his daughter 
 who stood beside him, he quickly recovered his composure, 
 and pointing her to a seat, observed: 
 
 " I had forgotten I had sent for you." 
 
 "Neither you did, father: I stole in upon my own 
 accord." 
 
 With a motion quick as lightning, Atherton seized her 
 by the arm, and eagerly peering into her face, while he 
 held his breath, said: 
 
 "You have not been listening, Arabella?" 
 
 "Would I do so base a thing, father?" interrogatively 
 answered the other, her color heightened with proud indig- 
 nation. 
 
 " True true yes ha, ha of course certainly not," 
 stammered Atherton, in some confusion, aware his sus- 
 picion had betrayed his guilt. I I was thinking ha, ha 
 
 in fact I hardly know what I was thinking but 
 
 Well, now you are here I would like to have some conver- 
 sation. You came opportunely, as I was about sending for 
 you. Ton the word of a father," he added, gazing proudly 
 upon her, " you look charming to-day, Arabella : beautiful, 
 if I may be so complimentary." 
 
 And beautiful Arabella Atherton ever looked in the eyes 
 of that hollow-hearted, fashionable world, who prefer the 
 cold beauty that dazzles and towers aloft like a mountain of 
 ice, to that softer and more effeminate loveliness, which, 
 like a sylvan landscape full of flowers, steals gently upon
 
 THE HYPOCRITE AND HIS TOOL. 87 
 
 the senses, and awakes all the finer emotion of the soul. 
 In the bloom of nineteen summers, Arabella was a belle ; 
 and being a supposed heiress to great wealth, had more 
 suitors to her hand than heart. In sooth, she was illy fit- 
 ted to win by the latter ; for hers was a proud, imperious 
 nature, little calculated to love, herself, or inspire others 
 with the tender passion. And yet both might come to pasa ; 
 she might love, and be in turn beloved ; but in her present 
 position, and with her worldly education, the possibility 
 was much greater than the probability. In stature she was 
 medium, and possessed a form almost a model of perfection. 
 A splendid bust, above which were a neck and head of a 
 carriage the most lofty, gave her a commanding appearance, 
 that, no matter what her position in society, would not 
 allow of her passing through the world unnoticed. Her 
 features were regular, but not particularly fine, unless seen 
 by artificial light, at a shert distance, when they appeared 
 beautiful. Her forehead was high and smooth, bearing 
 upon it the stamp of pride pride as of a conscious superi- 
 ority even over her equals. And this same pride was in 
 her dark, lustrous eye, in her slightly expanded nostrils, and 
 around her well formed mouth. It was a pride not only of 
 birth, beauty, position, and wealth, but of nature ; pride 
 that plainly showed she knew her value, and would by no 
 means allow herself to be underrated. Had she been born 
 a beggar, she would still have shown pride, and felt herself 
 the superior of her companions. And this pride, so dis- 
 played, was her ruling or strongest passion ; and though, 
 when she chose, she could be extremely affable and winning, 
 still pride was ever lurking near, and made her affability 
 dignified, her reserve most haughty. 
 
 On the present occasion, she was richly dressed in a lilac 
 Bilk, fashioned so as to display the outlines of her heaving 
 bosom, which, even in its rise and fall spoke pride. Her
 
 88 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 well-rounded, velvet-like arms were bare, save where encir- 
 cled by golden bracelets just above her snowy hands. To 
 mark her, as she turned her eyes inquiringly upon her 
 father, one could not but admit she was handsome. In fact 
 she was more so now than usual ; and this it was which had 
 drawn from him the compliment already quoted, and to which 
 she responded with : 
 
 " Thank you ! I must indeed look well to win the appro- 
 bation of one so fastidious." 
 
 "And, by-the-by," returned the other, " this same beauty 
 must bring its full value." 
 
 " What do you mean, father ?" she asked with flashing 
 eyes. " Am I tp be bought and sold like a slave or dumb 
 beast?" 
 
 " By no means, my daughter, to be bought and sold. I 
 would only imply that your wealth and beauty must not be 
 thrown away upon one inferior to yourself in any respect." 
 
 "Never fear, my dear father," rejoined Arabella, with 
 sarcasm and a haughty toss of her head, " that I shall 
 stoop to disgrace myself or you. There is as much family 
 pride in my breast as in your own. It is not every suitor, 
 I beg to assure you, that will gain even a promise of my 
 hand.* 
 
 "But at the same time, Arabella," pursued the politic 
 father, " you must not be too haughty when the right suitor 
 is before you, or you may mar all." 
 
 "And who, I pray, is the right suitor?" she asked 
 sharply. 
 
 "Who should he be, but the rich and accomplished 
 Clarence Malcolm ?" 
 
 "Umph!" rejoined the other, with a proud curl of the 
 lip ; " and am I then to do him reverence ?" 
 
 " By no means ; there are a thousand ways to win, without 
 in the least sacrificing your dignity. Of a truth, a certain
 
 THE HYPOCRITE AND HIS TOOL. 89 
 
 reserve is necessary to inspire a man with proper respect 
 and esteem for every thing is prized according to the 
 labor and expense required in obtaining it and to nothing 
 does this more strictly apply than to woman ; but what I 
 fear is, that you may so far forget your true policy, as to 
 treat him as you have done many a one before him, with a 
 haughtiness so disdainful that his own manly pride will 
 force him to leave you." 
 
 " I shall treat him," rejoined Arabella, " according to his 
 deserts and behaviour. If he presume too much, he shall 
 find I have not forgotten what is due to myself." 
 
 " But let me charge you, Arabella, to be very cautious, 
 for he is certainly a prize worth securing. I have it from 
 his own lawyer, that he has already been apportioned five 
 hundred thousand dollars, and will in time fall heir to as 
 much more. He is an only son of a widowed mother, and 
 her possessions are vast; so you see the importance of 
 making him yours ; and you will do it, I trust, even at the 
 sacrifice, if necessary, of a little self-pride." 
 
 " I do not know that I shall," returned Arabella, coldly, 
 " I do not think I shall cross my nature for any man, rich or 
 poor, high or low. Besides, I am not anxious to tie myself 
 in wedlock, at least for the present. There is time enough 
 for that years ahead." 
 
 " But think, my dear Arabella," pleaded the worldly 
 man, " what it is to be the wife of one so immensely rich, 
 and so universally esteemed as Clarence Malcolm. If you 
 have true pride, my daughter, this is the way to gratify it ; 
 for you will thus not only triumph over all your associates, 
 but place yourself in a position where you can over-awe 
 them with your grandeur and magnificience. Think what 
 it is, my child, to be the richest lady in the metropolis, and 
 leader of the ton! Why, were I you, I would stoop to 
 any thing to be so exalted."
 
 90 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " Would you ?" said Arabella, with another scornful curl 
 of the lip ; " I wouldn't there is the difference. I would 
 not condescend to lose one grain of self-respect, such as 
 you advise, to win Clarence Malcolm, were he even ten 
 times what you represent him. No, did I do so, I could 
 never after forgive myself." 
 
 "But, my daughter " 
 
 " Nay, hear me out. That Clarence Malcolm is rich, I 
 believe : that he is a gentleman of fine talents and accom- 
 plishments, I know ; and, to be candid, I like him as well 
 as any other ; and have reason to believe, from his atten- 
 tions to me of late, that I have found favour in his eyes. 
 Further than this, I know nothing; for not a word of 
 affection, or any thing tending towards matrimony, has 
 ever passed our lips to one another. Now should Clarence 
 Malcolm see proper to sue for my hand in a correct way, 
 taking me all in all, as I am, with all my imperfections on 
 my head, I might be disposed to grant his suit not for 
 his money, mark you, father not for his fine accomplish- 
 ments but simply because the whim might be upon me." 
 
 " Well, well, Arabella, you are a strange, spoiled child, 
 and so I suppose you must have your own way, though I 
 trust you will not disappoint me in this matter." 
 
 " But why are you so anxious, father ? Have you not 
 wealth enough?" 
 
 " Enough, Arabella ! why, you talk like a simple girl. 
 Enough ! bless your soul why, were I as rich as Croesus, 
 I should still thirst for more. Enough ! no I shall never 
 have enough, though every addition will be something 
 towards a satisfaction. My whole soul, Arabella, is con- 
 centrated upon the ambition of being the wealthiest gen- 
 tleman in the metropolis, that men may point at me and 
 .say, 'There goes he who can buy and sell all others.' So 
 be a true child of mine, Arabella, and aid me to accom-
 
 THE HYPOCRITE AND HIS TOOL 91 
 
 plish what I have struggled for years. With your consent, 
 and our cards skilfully handled, we are sure to win. Mal- 
 colm is in every sense a strict man of honor, and would 
 rather sacrifice his right hand than do a mean action, or 
 be thought guilty of one. His attentions to you have 
 already been somewhat marked ; endeavor to make them 
 still more so, and we are safe. I will have the report cir- 
 culated that you are engaged ; and then, should he seek to 
 avoid you, I will privately threaten him with a suit for 
 breach of promise. This will settle the matter ; for he 
 would suffer death sooner than have his fair name dragged 
 thus before the world and bandied in the public prints." 
 
 "But father," said Arabella, with a look of painful dis- 
 pleasure, " what respect could he have for a wife so ob- 
 tained?" 
 
 " Respect ? Pshaw ! girl, don't be a fool ! Who cares 
 for his respect, so we have his money !" 
 
 "But how would his money benefit you?" 
 
 " Ah, leave that to me leave that to me !" answered 
 Atherton, rubbing his hands with delight at the happy 
 prospect of effecting some well concocted, devilish scheme, 
 which he did not care to reveal to his daughter. " Come, 
 girl, promise me you will use your best endeavors to suc- 
 ceed in this !" 
 
 " I will think of it," said the other, coldly, rising to 
 withdraw. s 
 
 " You will promise, Arabella !" urged her father. " Come, 
 say you will promise !" 
 
 " I say I will think of it," sharply and haughtily re- 
 joined Arabella. And then turning, as she was about to 
 quit the apartment : " Who was that young man I saw 
 here the other evening?" she asked. "His face seemed 
 familiar, but I do not know where to place him." 
 
 " Mention him not !" replied Atherton, with a dark
 
 92 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 frown ; " mention him not, Arabella ; he is a villain who 
 has much annoyed me of late;" and he bit his lips in 
 vexation. 
 
 " Then his face belies him ;" rejoined Arabella, looking 
 hard at her father ; " for I have rarely seen a more hand- 
 some, frank, ingenuous countenance;" and without waiting 
 a reply from her angry parent, she quitted the apartment, 
 with the proud majesty of a queen, leaving the schemer 
 alone to his thoughts. 
 
 " So, so," he muttered, "her. pride overtops her judg- 
 ment, and therefore must have a fall. She must wed 
 Clarence Malcolm, though, for I have set my soul upon it, 
 and when was I ever known to fail in my undertakings !" 
 
 Beware, Oliver Atherton ! for you are reckoning without 
 your host.
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 
 
 NEW AND STRANGE ADVENTURES. 
 
 WHATEVER the mass of mankind, who have had no expe- 
 rience, may think to the contrary, the life of him who 
 gains his bread by the labor of his brain, is by no means 
 an easy one. To many who know not its trials, struggles 
 and vexations, it may seem very romantic, pleasant and 
 delightful ; but it is like a mountain seen from afar, which 
 appears smooth and beautiful in the distance, but which a 
 near inspection proves to be craggy, rough, and both 
 laborious and dangerous of ascent. It is one thing to read 
 and another to write. In the former instance all is plain 
 and smooth before you, word follows word, sentence fol- 
 lows sentence, idea succeeds idea, and, without any effort 
 on your part, your eye skims the page and your mind 
 grasps the sense, and you say to yourself, " Where is the 
 effort of the author in what is so simple and easy?" Ah, 
 you little dream what the same sentence may have cost 
 him, simple as it seems ! Perhaps hours of severe applica- 
 tion and brain-racking thought. It is not always the 
 smoothest and simplest passages that have been easiest 
 penned. On the contrary, it is these which may have cost 
 the severest toil for an instrument only becomes resplen- 
 dent through intense attrition, so the ideas of an author 
 can only come forth refulgent and polished by the same 
 skill, care and attention. 
 
 You that think the life of an author to be envied, sit 
 down, when you have leisure and feel in fine humor, and 
 8* (93)
 
 94 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 attempt to compose. And then, when depressed in spirits, 
 oppressed with grief, care and anxiety, ailing in body, and 
 your brain seems clogged and heavy, or, on the contrary, 
 parched with a burning fever, sit down and try it then. 
 Remember your task is before you, that you must go on, 
 for on this hangs the power to provide for yourself, and, 
 peradventure, those as near and dear to you as your own 
 heart's blood. And remember, too, you must not slight 
 your task, or that great tribunal, the public, before which 
 you must be judged, will not fail to censure and thus 
 destroy your occupation. Remember, furthermore, you 
 are continually called upon for new scenes, new ideas and 
 new events, which your already aching and overtaxed 
 brain must supply. And lastly, remember this is not a 
 day, nor a week, nor a month, but for years, perhaps a 
 lifetime. Make this trial, we say, take into consideration 
 all these facts, together with the pittance you will receive, 
 even if unfortunate enough to dispose of your labor, and 
 then, if you envy an author's fate go follow his profession, 
 and make an early grave for yourself, and a name that 
 will live perchance till your body has turned to corruption 
 and dust. 
 
 Similar to these were the reflections of Edgar Courtly, 
 ' as, pen in hand, and weary with thought, he paused over 
 the task he had undertaken. We have said elsewhere, that 
 in his leisure hours he had written poetry but that had 
 been done simply through inclination and for his own 
 amusement, and was very different from his present attempt, 
 where, with nothing to inspire him save the hope of reward, 
 on which his very life as it seemed to him depended, he 
 toiled on, straining each mental faculty to its utmost 
 tension. 
 
 "And even when completed," he sighed, "I may fail, 
 and all my anxiety and brain-torture go for naught."
 
 NEW AND STRANGE ADVENTURES. 95 
 
 But he determined to fail not through indolence or 
 carelessness ; and hence he wrote and read, revised and re- 
 wrote, until there seemed no possibility of his improving 
 what he had done ; and gladly then, yet not without mis- 
 givings, he pronounced the poem complete. This occurred 
 at a rather late hour on the third night from his meeting 
 with Elmer ; and having read it aloud to Virginia, and re- 
 ceived her joyful approval, he retired for the night but 
 not to sleep soundly for hope and fear were too busy in 
 his breast to allow him more than a feverish, fitful slumber. 
 At dawn he was up and dressed, and without partaking of 
 breakfast, so anxious was he to have the article put in hand 
 as early as possible, he set out for the lodgings of Elmer. 
 Elmer slept late, and so of course an interview at that hour 
 was out of the question ; but he left the parcel, properly 
 superscribed, in the hands of a servant, with imperative 
 instructions, that, so soon as Elmer should rise, it must be 
 given to him as a matter of great importance. Pondering 
 upon what would be his success against so much compe- 
 tition, he turned away, and, in a musing mood, strolled 
 down the street in the direction of the Battery. 
 
 It was a clear, cold, but beautiful and invigorating 
 morning ; and the sun, as he rose, wore a cheerful aspect, 
 and brightly gleamed down upon tall spires, making their" 
 bright balls seem fire; and upon the houses and trees, 
 turning their net work of frost into diamond dew drops ; 
 and upon the harbor and rivers, forming their waters into 
 polished mirrors ; and upon the rushing steamers, arching 
 rainbows in the spray of their wheels ; and upon the oars 
 of the boatmen, making every stroke dip silver ; and upon 
 the sails of the stately ships, giving them a light and swan- 
 like appearance ; and, in a word, upon every thing abroad, 
 animate and inanimate ; brightening, enriching and beauti- 
 fying all.
 
 96 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 As Edgar arrived at the Battery, and took in all this at 
 a glance, he felt his spirits revive with a feeling akin to the 
 scene : and for an hour he forgot his sorrows *.n a happy 
 reverie. Then, remembering he had not yet hroken his 
 fast, and that his sister, having prepared the frugal meal, 
 would be patiently awaiting him, he set out upon his 
 return; but instead of retracing his steps, shaped his 
 course along the shipping of the East river. Pushing for- 
 ward, little heeding any thing around him, his mind occu- 
 pied with grave reflections, he had passed some half a 
 dozen squares, when his progress was arrested by a groan 
 from a man lying on the pavement just to his right. His 
 first impression, on coming to a halt, was that the man was 
 drunk ; and he was about to pass on, when something in 
 the appearance of the stranger led him to think otherwise ; 
 and he approached and accosted him in a kindly tone. 
 
 "What is the matter, my friend?" he asked. 
 
 " God bless you," returned the other, in a feeble voice, 
 " for those kind words the first I have had addressed to me 
 for many a day 1 I am sick, kind sir, and, I fear, nigh 
 unto death. I lately arrived in port from a long voyage, 
 and was immediately taken ill with fever. I sought lod- 
 gings in yonder house, (pointing to a villainous-looking 
 groggery) for I had not much money, and did not know 
 where to go. While my money lasted, I received some 
 attention ; but it gave out last night ; and ere daylight this 
 morning, I was rudely thrust into the street, with the cold- 
 hearted remark, that, being now a beggar, I must seek 
 other quarters. I tried to get elsewhere, kind sir, my 
 strength failed me, and here I am. God!" he added, 
 in a sort of prayer, " if my time has come to die, take me 
 to thyself ! but I would, merciful God, that thou sparest 
 me longer, that, if possible, I may bring the guilty to
 
 NEW AND STRANGE ADVENTURES. 97 
 
 account, and right the wronged! but do, God, as to 
 thee seemest best !' 
 
 " Poor fellow !" sighed Edgar, struck with the stranger's 
 manner, and the mysteriousness of his last words ; " here 
 is another example of the world's humanity. Who are' 
 you, friend?" he asked; "for though dressed in the garb 
 of a common sailor, your language bespeaks one bred in a 
 different school." 
 
 " I am not what I seem," rejoined the other, in a still more 
 feeble voice, and evidently in much pain; " but I can explain 
 nothing now. If you can assist me, kind sir, do so if not, 
 leave me alone to die. Ah, me ! God's mercy on me !" 
 
 "Alas! stranger," rejoined Edgar, "it is little assist- 
 ance I can render to any one ; but what I can do I will ; 
 you must not be left alne to die. Have patience a 
 moment ; I will see what can be done ;" and seeing a well- 
 dressed gentleman at a short distance, he hurried to him, ' 
 explained the case, and asked his advice. 
 
 " He had better be sent to the hospital," was the reply. 
 
 " But will they receive him ?" queried Edgar. 
 
 "If a sailor, they are bound to do so;" and he gave 
 Edgar instructions how to proceed to gain him admittance. 
 
 Acting upon the other's advice, Edgar procured an 
 elliptic-spring dray, a vehicle much in use in the great 
 metropolis, and placing the stranger upon it, accompanied 
 and saw him safely deposited in the hospital, where he 
 would receive the best of care and medical attendance. 
 
 "And now," he said, as he was about to take his leave, 
 " I shall make it my business to call upon you daily. For 
 whom shall I inquire ?" 
 
 " Alanson Davis," answered the invalid, feebly pressing 
 the hand of Edgar. " And now yours, my kind benefactor, 
 whom may God reward for your humanity !" 
 
 "Edgar Courtly," replied our hero.
 
 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 The invalid started, clasped his forehead with one hand, 
 and, weak though he was, partly raised himself with the 
 other, while his eyes fastened upon Edgar with a wild, 
 eager expression. 
 
 " Perhaps I was mistaken," he said, in a hoarse whisper. 
 " Repeat your name once more !" 
 
 Edgar did so. 
 
 "And your native place !" 
 
 "Baltimore," said Edgar. 
 
 " You you have an uncle !" almost gasped the other. 
 
 Edgar set his teeth hard, and frowned darkly, as he 
 replied : 
 
 "My mother, God rest her soul! had an unnatural 
 brother." 
 
 " Whose name is " 
 
 "Oliver Atherton." 
 
 The sick man nodded his head and sunk back, too much 
 exhausted to make an immediate reply. At length he 
 feebly muttered : 
 
 " Go ! go ! but be sure you return to me ! God grant I 
 live, for your sake ! Heaven be praised that we have met ! 
 I have much to tell you but not now. Go ! go !" and so 
 exhausted was the invalid with excitement and the effort 
 to speak, that his last trial died away in a whisper. 
 
 Edgar, surprised and bewildered at these mysterious 
 words, would fain have lingered, in the hope of hearing 
 something further ; but the physician touched him on the 
 shoulder, and warned him that his presence was endan- 
 gering the life of the patient. He therefore took his 
 departure, and bent his steps homeward, musing upon the 
 strangeness of his adventure, and wondering what secret 
 the stranger had to reveal. That there had been crime 
 committed somewhere, he believed ; and might not this man 
 have been a tool of his uncle, and have aided in wresting
 
 NEW AND STRANGE ADVENTURES. 99 
 
 from him his rightful possessions ? He had spoken of 
 wrong that had been done ere he knew whom he addressed ; 
 and when the name was made known to him, his agitation 
 was such as could spring from no ordinary cause. And 
 the dark hints he had himself thrown out to his uncle on 
 the night his mother died, and the singular effect they pro- 
 duced, all recurred to the mind of Edgar, with the natural 
 reflection, that where there was so much uneasiness, there 
 must be some secret but potent cause ; and now that he 
 was once upon the trail, he resolved to ferret this out, let 
 the consequences be what they might. 
 
 The hospital, of which mention has just been made, 
 stands on Broadway, but retired from the constant jar of 
 busy life by a large enclosure or park, which slopes away 
 in front, forming a beautiftil lawn and sylvan grove, from 
 among the shrubbery of which the picturesque structure 
 peeps forth a rather delightful and inviting appearance, 
 more especially in the summer season, when the green 
 fluttering leaves seem to speak of pure air and gentle 
 refreshing quietude. His homeward course from this 
 hospital, led Edgar directly past the Tombs of Centre street, 
 upon which he now gazed with a strange, unaccountable 
 feeling of awe, that he had occasion soon after to remember 
 as an evil presentiment. 
 
 The Tombs so called from its resemblance to the Mauso- 
 leums of Egypt's mighty kings, and, also, as some say, 
 from the number of suicides committed by prisoners within 
 its damp and filthy cells, thus making it a sort of charnel 
 house is a building well calculated to arrest the attention 
 of a stranger viewing the curiosities of the great metro- 
 polis. It is a massive structure of stone, built in the 
 Egyptian style of architecture, and serves the several pur- 
 poses of a city prison, police court, the court of sessions, 
 law, and other offices. It is a grand but gloomy pile,
 
 100 THE F0150ED WILL. 
 
 surmounted by a cupola, whose summit overlooks a great 
 portion of the city. A high wall encloses three sides of it, 
 forming an area, the fourth side of which is composed of 
 the main huilding, into which from the opening, entrance 
 can only be had through heavy iron doors, kept double- 
 locked and bolted to prevent the escape of prisoners. 
 This area answers many prison purposes ; and among the 
 rest, that of admitting light and air to the cells looking 
 out upon it, and as a place of private execution for those 
 convicted of capital offences, whose death in such cases 
 is only witnessed by a few prisoners and officials. The 
 building is so constructed that a criminal may be led from 
 his cell to the court room, have his trial, and be remanded, 
 without once beholding the world without, until he is taken 
 hence to serve out his term of sentence, either at Black- 
 well's Island or Sing Sing. In front you enter by a long 
 flight of stone steps, and pass directly under a fine colon- 
 nade, which, together with the quaint appearance of the 
 whole building, as seen at a short distance, and the remem- 
 brance of the purposes to which it is devoted, gives it an 
 imposing and solemn aspect, that makes a deep and lasting 
 impression upon the mind of him, who, in a reflective mood, 
 views it for the first time. 
 
 While occupied in gazing upon this gloomy structure, 
 and thinking of the poor wretches therein confined, Edgar 
 was suddenly startled by the piercing shrieks of a female ; 
 and looking around, he beheld a horse coming down the 
 street at the very top of his speed, with a light vehicle 
 attached, in which sat a lady, nearly frightened out of her 
 senses, from whom issued these frightful sounds of agonized 
 despair. That she must soon be thrown out and dashed to 
 pieces, or terribly mangled, seemed inevitable for the car- 
 riage rocked from side to side, occasionally balancing on 
 two wheels for a moment, so evenly that a pound seemed
 
 A NEW AND STRANGE ADVENTURE. 101 
 
 sufficient to upset it, and then, just as all hope was over, 
 settling back to its original position, or swaying as far the 
 other way, while on dashed the frightened animal more 
 fiercely than ever. Hundreds had tried to check him or 
 change his course ; but on, on he still furiously sped, heed- 
 ing no obstacle, and turning neither to the right nor left. 
 Thousands had collected behind the lady, and were gazing- 
 after her in breathless awe, expecting every moment to wit- 
 ness a sight that would make their blood run cold with horror. 
 In front, men, women and children were rushing to the 
 sidewalks, to place their own persons in safety ; while others, 
 from every direction, were hurrying to the scene to gratify 
 a morbid curiosity. 
 
 From the moment Edgar put eyes upon the lady, he 
 determined to save her, even at the risk of his life and a 
 fearful risk it was, in the manner he attempted it. The horse 
 was descending Centre street from the direction of the Park ; 
 and, unless his course was changed, must pass within a few 
 feet of where he stood. There was but little time for reflec- 
 tion. But Edgar thought rapidly, and his plan was soon 
 laid; though, it must be confessed, one of peculiar danger to 
 himself. Perceiving a club upon the pavement, he seized 
 it, and stepping forward a few paces, awaited the approach 
 of 'the furious beast, well knowing that should he fail in 
 his design, his own life in all probability would be the pen- 
 alty. On came the maddened beast, rolling fire from the 
 flinty pavement beneath his hoofs, and making each one he 
 passed shudder with an indescribable terror. 
 
 Edgar had taken his position directly in front of the 
 animal ; so that, unless one or the other turned aside, the 
 latter must pass directly over his body. To turn aside 
 neither seemed inclined ; and when the beast, still rushing 
 forward with unabated velocity, had reached within a few 
 feet of our intrepid hero, there was a general cry of alarm 
 9
 
 102 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 for his safety. The next moment the cry was changed into 
 a universal shout of applause, and men marvelled at what 
 their own eyes revealed to them. The horse lay sprawling, 
 ' panting, and kicking upon the pavement the vehicle, upset 
 and broken, was partly piled upon him while the lady, safe 
 and unharmed, was resting, all unconscious, in the arms of 
 her deliverer. 
 
 The manner in which this had been effected was simple, 
 i though seemingly a miracle to those who beheld it. As the 
 foaming horse came bounding up, Edgar struck him a violent 
 blow upon the head, which felled him to the earth ; then 
 springing quickly back, he caught the lady in his arms, as 
 she was thrown forward by the sudden stopping of the 
 vehicle. It was a most dangerous feat, but one he had 
 correctly counted on performing, and he now stood the 
 proud hero of a thousand admiring eyes. 
 
 His first movement was to bear the lady up the steps of 
 the Tombs, where, water being procured and dashed in her 
 face, she presently revived, only to stare in wonder and 
 maidenly timidity upon the dense crowd that had gathered 
 around. A single glance at Ber person and dress, showed 
 her to be young, beautiful and wealthy or at least a lady 
 of some distinction and Edgar was perplexing himself how 
 to proceed next, when a middle-aged gentleman came push- 
 ing through the crowd, which gave way with deference, and 
 catching her in his arms, wildly called her his own dear 
 child, and seemed fairly beside himself with joy at her 
 providential escape. 
 
 Seeing she was now in proper hands, and that there was 
 no longer need for his services, Edgar took advantage of 
 the confusion, and quietly and modestly withdrew. 
 
 When the father, having learned the details of how his 
 daughter had been saved by the heroic daring on the part 
 of another which astonished him, and, full of profound
 
 A NEW AND STRANGE ADVENTURE. 103 
 
 gratitude, inquired for her noble deliverer, he was gone, much 
 to his regret and disappointment, and none could say where 
 he might be found. In a word, while men were eagerly 
 seeking him, that he might receive a due reward for his 
 noble daring, Edgar was quietly wending his way home- 
 ward, satisfied in his own conscience that he had performed 
 his duty, and disposed to seek no other recompense. 
 
 The sun was several hours advanced towards meridian 
 when he reached his humble lodgings ; and Virginia having 
 prepared the morning meal, was awaiting him with anxiety, 
 full of a thousand fears for his safety. To her he explain- 
 ed at once all that had happened to detain him ; and throwing 
 her arms around his neck, she pressed upon his lips the 
 sisterly kiss of approval ; and both partook of their frugal 
 repast with increased appetites and lightened hearts.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE ABODE OP THE UNFORTUNATE. 
 
 ALTHOUGH impatient to know the decision of Elmer 
 regarding his production, Edgar did not deem it proper to 
 intrude upon him for a day or two, or until all his compe- 
 titors should have sent in their efforts. Feverish with 
 anxiety as concerned his success, it was now his object to 
 while away his time so as to think as little upon the matter 
 as possible. For this purpose he sallied forth into the 
 bustling city, passing through the main thoroughfares, 
 along the quays, and, in short, visiting every place which 
 he fancied would serve to .draw his thoughts from what had 
 now become a painful subject painful, because he felt that 
 in case of failure, the hope which had buoyed up his sinking 
 spirits would be irrecoverably sunk in the dark waters of 
 despair. After rambling about for several hours, he visit- 
 ed the hospital, in the hope to gain from the lips of Davis 
 an explanation of his mysterious words ; but in this he was 
 sadly disappointed ; for the physician informed him the 
 man was delirious, and in all probability would not survive 
 the attack, as anxiety and exposure had increased his 
 malady to a very malignant form ; and even should he 
 recover, all conversation on worldly topics must be excluded 
 for at least a couple of weeks. This was sore news to 
 Edgar, as he had counted much on getting some clue to the 
 supposed villainy of his uncle, whereby he might, if not 
 convict him, at least force him to a satisfactory compromise, 
 and regain enough of his father's property to render him- 
 (104)
 
 THE ABODE OF THE UNFORTUNATE. 105 
 
 self and sister independent. It was, therefore, with a heavy 
 heart that he again shaped his course homeward, uncon- 
 sciously passing over the very ground he had traversed in 
 the morning. As he came along side of the Tombs and 
 looked up to the huge pile, he felt a cold shudder pass 
 through his frame, and his very soul recoil, as it were, with 
 undefinable fear. 
 
 " Strange !" he mentally ejaculated ; " strange, I should 
 feel thus, when looking upon the walls of a prison ! I have 
 never done a wrong deed, that I should have such terror of 
 the criminal's home. Is it can it be a foreboding of further 
 evil ? God grant that my worst trials are over ! for misery 
 and I have too long been acquainted, and I had hoped we 
 should again be strangers." 
 
 Musing thus, he pursued his way until he entered Mott 
 street ; when an irresistible desire seized upon him to visit 
 Ellen, his generous benefactress, whom neither himself nor 
 sister had seen since changing their quarters, and also to look 
 once more upon the wretched abode where his poor mother 
 had ended her sufferings. As he drew near the place and 
 glanced toward the miserable hovel, again tenanted with 
 the most squalid poverty, his heart leaped to his throat, his 
 eyes grew dim, and he was fain to turn quickly away to 
 master his emotion. 
 
 The dwelling of the unfortunate Ellen was nearly oppo- 
 site, and to this he bent his steps. His first impression 
 was that the house was tenantless for the door was not 
 only closed, but heavy wooden shutters barred all the 
 windows. Although past midday, there were no signs of 
 life about the premises ; and Edgar was on the point of 
 leaving, thinking there was none within, when something 
 altered his determination, and he at once advanced to the 
 door and stoutly applied the knocker. After some little 
 delay, Edgar heard the rattling of bars and the clanking 
 9*
 
 106 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 of chains ; and then the door swung ajar a few inches, but 
 not sufficiently to admit the entrance or exit of even a 
 child, and a hoarse cracked female voice said : 
 
 " Who are you ? and what's wanting ?" 
 
 " Is Ellen Douglas within?" asked Edgar in reply. 
 
 " Well, 'sposen she is ?" was the inhospitable rejoinder. 
 
 " Why, then, I desire to see her," said Edgar, already 
 half inclined to depart without more ado. 
 
 I'll see if she'll see you," said the voice. " Who'll I 
 tell her wants her?" 
 
 " Edgar Courtly." 
 
 The door swung to bolts, bars and chains rattled back 
 to their places and for a few minutes all was silent. 
 Then a shutter cautiously opened over Edgar's head, as if 
 for some one to peer down, and then as cautiously closed. 
 Presently there was another rattling at the door, which 
 this time swung open, and the same harsh voice said : . 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 "As Edgar crossed the threshold, he beheld a corpu- 
 lent woman, some forty years of age, with a red, bloated 
 countenance and blear eyes, dressed in a loose gown or 
 wrapper, who eyed him coldly until he had cleared the 
 swing of the door, which she shut with impatient violence, 
 and carefully refastened. 
 
 Then turning, " Up stairs," she grumbled, rather than 
 said, and led the way herself. 
 
 Passing through a long, dark hall, preceded by the 
 woman, Edgar ascended a flight of stairs, richly carpeted, 
 to the second story ; turning to the right, his conductress 
 threw open a door into a fine apartment, magnificently 
 furnished, and brilliantly lighted with gas, although broad 
 daylight without. A splendid Brussels carpet covered the 
 floor, over which, in elegant profusion, were arranged the 
 most costly articles of furniture. Here stood mahogany
 
 THE ABODE OF THE UNFORTUNATE. 107 
 
 and rosewood sofas, ottomans, settees and chairs, covered 
 with purple and crimson silk-velvet ; there two large marble 
 tables, strewn with books and music ; yonder an organ and 
 piano of the most expensive workmanship ; while the walls 
 were adorned with mirrors, that doubled the splendors of 
 the whole, and with busts, and statuetts, and with paintings 
 worthy the attention of a connoiseur of art. 
 
 As all this flashed upon Edgar, a refinement so far 
 beyond what he had expected to find, he could hardly 
 credit his senses, and was half beginning to fancy himself 
 a subject of fairy magic, translated to an oriental palace, 
 when his eye fell upon the object he sought, the beautiful 
 Ellen, reclining on a sofa at the farthest side of the room, 
 robed now in a costly silk, and resplendent with pearl, 
 diamonds and gold. She did not rise, but motioned him 
 to close the door and advance to her side. He did so ; and 
 a* she reached out her hand to him, he saw she was very 
 pale and a good deal agitated. 
 
 " How is your sister ?" was her first question. 
 
 " I thank you, she is well," replied Edgar, seating him- 
 self by her side ; " but I fear I cannot say as much for 
 you." 
 
 "No," rejoined Ellen with a sigh, "I am not well. I 
 have been ailing ever since I saw you, and have not been 
 out of my room for several days." 
 
 " I thought there must bfc something of the kind, for 
 you have not called upon us," returned Edgar, " and there- 
 fore I came to see you." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Ellen, scarcely able to repress 
 her tears, " to take such disinterested interest in one 
 despised by the world." 
 
 "Not disinterested either," rejoined Edgar. "You 
 forget you are our benefactress." 
 
 " I would to God I could forget all other things as
 
 108 TfiE FORGED WILL. 
 
 easily," she replied, with an anguish. " That was nothing- 
 nothing. If my money did you any service I am rejoiced 
 to know it but I pray you mention it not again." 
 .. "I am in hopes soon to restore it," said Edgar. 
 
 " Nay, do no such thing!" returned Ellen, with energy. 
 "I would rather you keep it; for in your hands, and. that 
 of your sweet sister, it will be used for virtuous ends ; 
 while in mine, base mortal that I am ! it might only serve 
 some unholy purpose. Oh, that I were dead and in my 
 grave," she continued, bitterly, " away from the sight, the 
 scorn, and contumely of man! Were it not I dread the 
 great and terrible Hereafter, another sun should not rise 
 upon me in life." 
 
 "Nay, Ellen, why talk thus?" returned Edgar, gently 
 and soothingly. " You have done wrong, undoubtedly ; 
 BO have I so have all for all human nature is prone to 
 ere in a greater or less degree. But there is one conso- 
 lation left us: we can repent of our errors and reform our 
 ways ; and, Ellen, I beseech you, as one_ who has your 
 happiness at heart, to change your present course !" 
 
 " And be a thing for the world to point at, hiss at, and 
 insult L" rejoined Ellen, mournfully. "No! no! I would 
 rather be as I am for now at least I am on an equality with 
 those around me." 
 
 " But leave here go where you are unknown live an 
 upright life, and you need have no fears of being insulted," 
 returned Edgar, seriously. 
 
 "And think you, my friend for of all men I have 
 known, you are the only one I can truly venture to call 
 so that my guilty conscience would allow me to mingle 
 again with the virtuous ? the wolf in the sheep's fold ! 
 No no, no!" she pursued, hurriedly; "I can not do it: 
 I have thought it all over time and again, and have wept 
 such tears as only the conscience-stricken guilty can know.
 
 THE ABODE OF THE UNFORTUNATE. 109 
 
 Go where I would, I should feel that all eyes were upon 
 me, reading the thoughts of my polluted soul ; and it would 
 be a hell of torture to me far beyond even this. I am a 
 woman ; and well you know, when one of my sex is branded 
 with shame, there is no doer of mercy and pardon"left open 
 for us. No, do what we may, having once done wrong, 
 we are disgraced for ever, and towards us the world's 
 finger of scorn stands eternally uplifted. I am proud as I 
 am wretched ; and to see myself shunned by all honest people, 
 as a creature to be abhorred, would be a punishment I could 
 not endure, and to which even death on the rack would 
 prove a glad substitute. Oh, I am most wretched at times ; 
 and were it not, as I have just said, I dread the conse- 
 quences hereafter, another sun should not rise save upon 
 my livid corse." 
 
 " Nay, let me entreat you to think differently, Ellen !" 
 pleaded Edgar, gently, taking her hand. 
 
 " Do not attempt entreaty !" she said, rapidly, " for you 
 will only fail where others have failed before. There was 
 one," she pursued, pressing her hands upon her throbbing 
 temples, and looking wildly upon Edgar, " whose warning 
 voice I disregarded ere I became criminal : and if she 
 could not arrest me in my wayward course, think not that 
 any have now the power to reclaim. My mother ! oh, my 
 mother ! oh God, my mother !" she cried, in anguish; and 
 again hiding her face, sobbed aloud. 
 
 Edgar endeavored to console and tranquilize her, but 
 for a long time without producing any effect, other than 
 to cause a fresh burst of agony. At length, becoming a 
 little more calm, and striving to repress all emotion, she 
 resumed : 
 
 " And can you indeed look upon me without abhorrence, 
 considering what I am ?" 
 
 "It is not that I consider what you are," answered
 
 110 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 Edgar, "so much as what you may become, if you will 
 but heed my counsel, which makes you less criminal in my 
 eyes than your own. The evil you do or have done, no 
 one can more heartily condemn than I. It is the good 
 remaining to which I hopefully turn, to see you saved from 
 a fate the most horrible to contemplate. You have inti- 
 mated that here you are on an equality with your associ- 
 ates. Permit me to venture the assertion, that in nobleness 
 of nature and refinement of soul, you are far, far their 
 superior ; and hence what to them is of easy endurance, 
 to you is a torture almost unbearable. To them, sin is a 
 golden ball of delightful temptation to you, a grinning 
 skull, horrifying to your senses. They have done and still 
 do wrong, because it is the strongest passion they possess 
 you, because you have been seduced into error, and 
 fancy there is no escape." 
 
 "You speak much truth," rejoined Ellen, mournfully. 
 " Were I what I was once, with all the knowledge I now 
 possess, not a world, were it laid at my feet, should tempt 
 me to be what I am but being what I am, a world, even 
 had I such to offer, could not restore me to the purity and 
 happiness I possessed ere the tempter came. My tale is 
 brief, and soon told you take an interest in my fate 
 therefore listen to what these lips have never as yet 
 revealed to mortal ear : 
 
 " On the banks of the beautiful and romantic Hudson, 
 some hundred miles or so above here, stands a lovely 
 cottage, shaded in the summer by a sylvan grove, and by 
 vines and flowers that entwine themselves gracefully and 
 luxuriantly about it. Here, in times past, lived a happy 
 family a father, mother, and daughter the latter an 
 only child, on whom both parents fondly doated too 
 fondly, I fear, for their good and her own. The fearful 
 epidemic of 1832, called the father suddenly to eternity,
 
 THE ABODE OF THE UNFORTUNATE. Ill 
 
 and struck the first fell blow against the happiness of the 
 two survivors. Time passed on, and the love of mother 
 and daughter, which had been heretofore divided by a hus- 
 band and father, now centred upon each other, with an 
 intensity that softened their grief for the lost one. Fair 
 and beautiful alas ! too beautiful for her own salvation 
 the daughter bloomed eighteen, the reigning belle of the 
 village, with a host of admirers ever in her train. Unsus- 
 picious as she was unsophisticated in the ways of a heart- 
 less world, and somewhat vain by nature, but more so by 
 circumstances, she was thus a fit subject for the machina- 
 tions of one of the handsomest and most accomplished 
 young men she had ever beheld. Add to these attractions, 
 that he was from the fashionable circles of New York, the 
 son of a millionaire, and that to her, comparatively a coun- 
 try rustic, he paid the utmost deference, professing at the 
 same time an ardent attachment, and you will scarcely 
 wonder that, dazzled by his position, and the prospective 
 brought before her mind's eye, as well as grateful for the 
 distinction she fancied conferred upon her, her affections 
 should become enlisted, and she gradually be led on to her 
 own destruction. This her mother saw and warned her 
 of repeatedly ; but when was an over-indulged youth or 
 maiden ever known to profit by the counsels of maturer 
 years, unless coerced or brought to the thinking point by 
 sad experience. Yet do not fancy she leaped from virtue 
 to vice knowingly. No ! all the world could never have 
 persuaded her to that. She knew she was doing wrong, 
 but did not dream of aught criminal, until the fatal Rubi- 
 con of vice had been passed, as in a dream, and she awoke 
 to the horrible reality of knowing her steps could never be 
 retraced that her fair name and fame were blasted for- 
 ever her peace of mind forever ruined. Nor was this 
 effected but with the basest deception. She was persuaded
 
 112 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 to elope with him she loved, and be privately married, that 
 the news thereof might not reach his father's ears, and he 
 thereby be cut off with a shilling. At night, and by 
 stealth, she left the roof of her fond mother and came to 
 this city, where she was joined in holy wedlock or at 
 least so led to suppose, until the awful truth of a base 
 deception having been practised, was subsequently revealed 
 to her. Then it was the lamb became a tigress, fearful to 
 look upon ; for all the wild passions of hell itself were 
 stirred within her ; and he who had brought her to this, 
 was fortunate to escape with life, until her first frenzy was 
 over. As it was, even, when next she and her lover met, 
 there was a fearful scene ; and with the door of her apart- 
 ment bolted upon him, a glittering dagger in her hand, 
 there would have been a new tragedy a horrifying tale 
 of bloody retribution for the world to gossip over 
 had not he, on his bended knees, calling Heaven to wit- 
 ness, solemnly vowed to make her his lawful wife, and that,, 
 too, ere another month should roll over her guilty head. 
 "To avoid detail," continued Ellen, with mournful energy, 
 raising herself to a sitting posture, "three years have 
 since passed, and yet that vow has never been fulfilled." 
 
 "But the lover the seducer," asked Edgar, quickly, 
 " what of him ?" 
 
 " He is her lover still ; and if not by the laws of man, 
 at least before high Heaven, Ellen Douglas is his true and 
 loyal wife." 
 
 "But when he broke the vow ?" 
 
 " He did it by giving good cause, and making another 
 equally as strong and equally as futile. But I loved, 
 trusted, and forgave him for what will not poor woman 
 do for him she loves ! He has made a dozen vows since 
 then, only to break them all and leave me what I am." 
 
 " Then why accuse yourself of being such a vile wretch.
 
 THE ABODE OP THE UNFORTUNATE. 113 
 
 when the sin was not so much your own as another's ?" 
 asked Edgar. 
 
 " But the sin was my own," said Ellen, mournfully ; 
 " for did I not disregard the counsels of a beloved mother, 
 and basely, like a guilty being, forsake her in the dead 
 hour of night? alas ! alas ! to the breaking of her heart ;" 
 and turning her face, the wretched girl burst into tears. 
 
 " And where is she now ?" inquired Edgar. 
 
 "Where?" echoed Ellen, with a startling emphasis; 
 " where I would to God I were with the dead !" and 
 sinking back upon her seat, she remained for a few minutes 
 completely overcome with the force of her feelings. 
 
 Edgar made no reply, for he knew there were sorrows, 
 and more especially those where a self-condemning con- 
 science formed a portion, far beyond the power of human 
 consolation, and the which it were but mockery to attempt 
 to soothe. After a silence of some minutes, only broken 
 by her sigjis and sobs, Ellen turned to Edgar, and re- 
 sumed : 
 
 " This, my friend, made me a wretch this, and the 
 thoughts of what I am, most wretched. But," she added, 
 with a wild, startled look, " I could bear all even my dis- 
 grace and the contumely of my fellow creatures bear all 
 to my death, without murmuring were I assured that he, 
 the idol of my heart, as he is the author of my misery, but 
 loved me with one half the passion he has professed. Oh ! 
 it is the bitter, harrowing thought, that, after all, I may 
 be abandoned, forsaken, and that for another, which keeps 
 my brain on fire, and has driven me nigh distracted ! But 
 he shall never wed her and Ellen Douglas live !" she 
 cried, with sudden vehemence, springing to her feet, 
 greatly to the surprise of Edgar, and towering aloft like 
 an indignant queen, while her dark eyes glared fearfully 
 around : " No, he shall never wed her and I live polluted ! 
 10
 
 114 THE FORGED TTILL. 
 
 never, never, never I swear it before high Heaven !" 
 and she threw back her head, cast her eyes upward, and 
 raised her hand aloft, with a natural eloquence of gesture 
 the greatest orator might have envied. 
 
 "And if I may be permitted the question," said Edgar, 
 almost fearful to hazard the inquiry, " who is the villain 
 of whom you speak ?" 
 
 "Nay," cried Ellen, eagerly, suddenly grasping his 
 arm, and fixing her eyes upon his, " cafl him not a villain 
 it is too harsh a term ! I may call him so, but I would 
 not hear another." 
 
 " I crave pardon !" returned Edgar, perceiving his mis- 
 take ; " but my indignation got the better of my prudence." 
 
 "As you are a stranger here," resumed Ellen, abruptly, 
 seeming not to heed the apology, " and know not the per- 
 sonage in question, I will venture to answer you but all 
 in confidence, remember. Know then, he is the only son 
 of one Oliver Atherton, well known here as a millionaire." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Edgar, springing to his feet in 
 astonishment: "Acton Atherton?" 
 
 " You know him, then ?" cried Ellen, breathlessly. 
 
 " Only by report, and as my cousin not personally. 
 
 " Your cousin ?" almost screamed the other, grasping 
 his arm and looking completely bewildered. " Your cousin, 
 did you say ?" 
 
 "Unfortunately he is so," rejoined Edgar, setting his 
 teeth hard in anger. 
 
 " He your cousin !" repeated Ellen, who in her astonish- 
 ment could think of nothing else ; " and you thus ! such 
 disparity between you ! Pray tell me how is this ?" 
 
 " By the devil's own labor," replied Edgar, bitterly ; 
 " you know his servants seldom go without the good things 
 of this world, whatever they may receive in the next. But 
 come, we have been thrown together singularly, you have
 
 THE ABODE OF THE UNFORTUNATE. 115 
 
 briefly sketched me your history, and as I believe our mis- 
 fortunes both date from one source, sit down and I will 
 briefly tell you mine ;" and Edgar proceeded to give the 
 outlines of what is already known to the reader. 
 
 " And now, Ellen," he said, in conclusion, " as you know 
 something of his history, I fancy you will be less credulous 
 concerning what comes from his forked tongue ; for that 
 your betrayer will keep one vow with you, I solemnly do 
 not believe." 
 
 " Alas ! what will then become of me ?" groaned Ellen, 
 in anguish of spirit. 
 
 " Let me repeat my advice. Leave here and retire to 
 some secluded part of the country, where you can ever 
 remain unknown." 
 
 " No, no," rejoined Ellen, " I could not do that. I am 
 so constituted, my friend, that once certain I am not loved 
 
 once sure I am forsaken But hark !" she exclaimed 
 
 abruptly, starting up and springing to the window; " there 
 is a knock at the door perhaps it is Acton. It is !" she 
 added, hurriedly, the next moment, as gently she opened 
 the shutter and peered down. " Quick, quick, my friend, 
 you must be gone ! I would not have you seen by your 
 cousin for the world ! He is already too jealous, and the 
 sight of you would be my undoing ! Pass out of the room 
 at once, and, as he approaches, appear to have come from 
 another apartment ! Now quick, my friend, quick ! Adieu ! 
 I will see you another time adieu !" and as she uttered 
 these words rapidly, she fairly pushed Edgar from the 
 apartment and closed the door. 
 
 Edgar followed her instructions to the letter, and the 
 next minute passed his cousin, whom he now beheld for the 
 first time, and was on his way, unsuspected by the other, 
 to the street door, where the same female who gave him 
 admittance now gave him exit.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE BETRAYER AND HIS .VICTIM. 
 
 As the reader may have some curiosity to know some- 
 thing more of Acton Goldfinch, an individual destined to 
 fill a dark page in this history, we will return to the 
 splendid apartment of Ellen Douglas. Ere he entered her 
 presence, Ellen had resumed her reclining posture on the 
 sofa, from which, as the door opened, she languidly raised 
 her head to give him a faint welcome. As he advanced to 
 her side, the light, falling full upon him, revealed a young 
 man of slight but handsome figure, some three and twenty 
 years of age, with a countenance peculiarly calculated to 
 arrest and rivet the attention of the most casual observer. 
 Though slightly effeminate, it was comely, much beyond 
 what is generally seen in one of the male sex possessing 
 that singular beauty which is far more apt to fascinate 
 than please the fastidious. His features were fine and 
 regular, with dark, eloquent black eyes, capable of a soft 
 and languishing, a bright and merry, or a dark and piercing 
 expression, according to the varying moods of their pos- 
 sessor. A rather high, though somewhat narrow forehead, 
 a slightly aquiline nose, a perfectly formed mouth, filled 
 with a beautiful set of ivory teeth, and a neatly curved and 
 well rounded chin, gave him a physiognomy that would 
 have been prepossessing as it was handsome, were it not 
 for a something in the expression, seen at intervals, like a 
 light cloud passing athwart the sun, which warned one to 
 be wary in bestowing confidence. His complexion was 
 (116)
 
 THE BETRAYER AND HIS VICTIM. 117 
 
 dark, but very clear, almost transparent, adding much to 
 his beauty ; and as he raised his hat, he displayed a comely- 
 shaped head, covered with a profusion of dark brown, 
 natural curls. He was richly but rather gaudily dressed, 
 nearly every article differing in color, though each the 
 brightest and most showy of its kind ; while a profuse display 
 of jewelry, all incompatible with good taste, proved his 
 vanity paramount to his judgment. And this, if he had 
 any at all, might be set down as the ruling passion of Acton 
 Atherton for to gratify his vanity, he had been led into 
 those very excesses which were fast and surely hastening 
 him to his own destruction. Unlike his father, he was not 
 far-seeing, and lacked the cunning, shrewdness and intel- 
 lect to be a great schemer. He was a villain, but not a 
 deep one ; and this not on the score of principle for in 
 this he was deficient but because he lacked the mental 
 power necessary to make him such. Honor of a certain 
 kind he had a sort of fashionable honor which causes 
 dissolute young men to pay their gambling debts, though 
 many times at the expense of such as do them menial ser- 
 vices. Honesty he had to a certain degree insomuch, 
 that having enough of his own, he never thought to steal, 
 from others. He was benevolent, too, in some respects 
 that is, he could and would give freely whenever his fancy 
 prompted and his vanity seemed likely to reward him ; but 
 he would go no further the usual claims which suffering 
 penury has upon our sympathies, having no effect upon his. 
 If he had any veneration, it was for the man who could 
 best handle a pack of cards, make the largest single count 
 at billiards, or prove champion in a pugilistic encounter. 
 In short, his mind was gross and selfish, and adapted rather 
 to sensual than intellectual enjoyments. Yet he could be 
 remarkably fascinating to/4he opposite sex too much so 
 for their own good for his consummate vanity and uriprin- 
 10*
 
 118 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 cipled nature, ever led him to take advantage of their 
 innocence whenever opportunity favored. It was to gratify 
 his vanity he completed the ruin of Ellen Douglas ; and it 
 was alone her beauty, of which it was his pride to boast 
 among his associates, that had thus' far kept him from 
 utterly deserting her. Perhaps the reader, acquainted 
 with the localities of New York, and knowing Acton so 
 vain, will be surprised he did not board Ellen in a more 
 fashionable quarter of the city ; but for this he had his 
 reasons, of which it is unnecessary we should speak. 
 
 To all the qualities, good and bad, of Acton Atherton, 
 we must add one other, more dangerous than all the rest. 
 If he had a countenance and an eye to fascinate, he cer- 
 tainly had a voice to charm, whose every intonation was 
 melody itself and this was by far the most dangerous 
 weapon with which he assailed the 'citadel of virtue. Pos- 
 sessing a good flow of language, he could talk for hours, in 
 a way to please, sooth and enchant, like the music of a 
 murmuring stream and yet never advance one grand or 
 original idea, or inculcate one highly moral principle. But 
 the mass of mankind look more to the manner of delivery 
 than the sentiment ; and hence a gem of thought, plainly 
 spoken, will make less impression than a stale idea bril- 
 liantly uttered. In this latter virtue lay the power of Acton 
 Atherton, and he both knew and used it. 
 
 "Well, Ellen," he said, in a bland but careless tone, 
 "you are looking disconsolate how is this?" 
 
 "I seldom look happy," was the grave reply; "or if I 
 do, my looks belie my heart." 
 
 "Not happy," he rejoined, partly, stroking his chin with 
 an air of self-complaisance, " and a rich man's son for your 
 lover ! Fie, Ellen, fie !" 
 
 " I would he were a poor man's son," said Ellen. 
 
 "Why so?"
 
 THE BETRAYER AND HIS VICTIM. 119 
 
 " I could then hope." 
 
 "Hope? poh! you will never cease of that always 
 harping on the same theme. You have the reality before 
 you, so for what need you hope?" 
 
 " That he who sits beside me, will redeem his many 
 broken vows, and in part repair the wrong he has done 
 me." 
 
 " Nonsense, Ellen what has put you to thinking of this 
 again ?" 
 
 " It is never absent from my mind." 
 
 "Well, well," rejoined Acton, hurriedly, and seeming 
 somewhat embarrassed ; " all in good time, Ellen all in 
 good time." 
 
 " You procrastinate," said Ellen, fixing her dark eyes 
 upon him. " You even use less protestation of compliance 
 than formerly." 
 
 " Poh ! you mistake, girl." 
 
 " No" cried Ellen, with vehemence, grasping his arm 
 somewhat wildly, " I do not mistake ! You have some 
 other plan in view you intend to desert me !" 
 
 "No, on my honor!" returned Acton, in some con- 
 fusion : " I tell you you mistake." 
 
 "And I tell you I do not mistake!" rejoined Ellen, 
 more vehemently than ever, now fully roused to a sense of 
 meditated baseness on the part of her lover. 
 
 " And can you for a moment, my dear, beloved Ellen, 
 think I would desert you? No, on my knees, I swear " 
 
 " Hold!" interrupted the other : " swear no more, Acton 
 Atherton ! for you have broken oaths enough already to 
 damn one far less guilty than yourself. Swear no more, 
 I tell you, for the thought of it sickens and fills me with 
 horror ! On your bended knees, calling Heaven to witness, 
 you swore, three years ago, to make me your wife. A 
 dozen times since have you done the same thing and yet
 
 120 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 what am I now ? A thing to be loathed and despised by 
 all virtuous people a poor human wretch, destined to fill 
 a guilty grave ! Oh ! Acton, why did you come to me, 
 when I was happy, and, because I loved you and trusted 
 you, coldly and cruelly betray my confidence, and put a 
 stain upon my name that an ocean of repentant tears can 
 never wash away ! Why did you dome to me, I say, when 
 I was happy, and with insidious arts forever ruin my 
 peace of mind, making of me a wretch that abhors her own 
 existence ? You knew I loved you wildly and madly so 
 madly, oh God ! that I forsook my own home and my beloved 
 mother at your request ! For you I disregarded the 
 righteous counsels of one whom, but for you, I would have 
 drained my heart of its blood sooner than so offended. 
 And what have been the awful consequences which I have 
 struggled to bear for your sake ? Look at them, Acton, 
 as I do, with a quailing eye ! My mother is in her grave 
 her broken heart crumbling to dust a noble heart, 
 broken by the conduct of me, her daughter, because she 
 loved me more than life. And I I " she fairly screamed 
 in frenzy, grasping his arm fiercely, and letting her dark 
 eyes burn into his, that quailed before their powerful glance 
 and sunk to the ground "I broke that heart for you 
 for you who in return only blighted mine, as the frost 
 does the flower, and made me the victim of false-sworn 
 vows ! Look at the three years of suffering I have borne 
 suffering beyond the power of mortal tongue to describe 
 suffering full of wo unutterable ruined hopes, corroding 
 remorse, and a guilty conscience, still made guiltier by the 
 damning deeds of daily perpetration ! Think of it, Acton 
 look upon it and let the thought harrow up your soul to 
 a redeeming virtue ! Remember all this has been done for 
 you for love only by one you once basely betrayed, and
 
 THE BETRAYER AND HIS VICTIM. 121 
 
 have now planned to desert and cast away, as we throw chaff 
 upon the wind !" 
 
 Ellen paused, and gazing upon her trembling lover for a 
 moment now trembling with fear rather than regret she 
 relaxed her grasp, sunk slowly back upon her seat, and 
 covered her face, as if to shut out the horrid scenes her 
 memory had called up from the eventful past. 
 
 For a few minutes Acton made no reply, and for the 
 simple reason he knew not what to say. What he had just 
 heard he felt was true ; and he was completely confounded 
 at Ellen's seeming knowledge of what he had supposed a 
 profound secret, and overawed by her wild, impetuous 
 manner. Never had he seen her thus but once, and that 
 the time already referred to by herself, when she forced 
 from him a solemn vow to make her his. Three years had 
 since passed, and she had been to him a quiet, docile 
 being ; and he had fancied himself secure that her spirit 
 was crushed, the lion of her nature forever subdued. But 
 now was he suddenly made aware of his mistake, and saw 
 himself entangled in a perplexity, whence there appeared 
 little chance of extrication. What was to be done! he 
 fain would have lied on ; but she had stopped his oaths, 
 and would not receive his vows, and therefore had made 
 him dumb of protestations. Should he come out boldly, 
 own all, and brave her to her teeth? He feared to do so, 
 and yet this might produce the desired effect. At all 
 events, he resolved to try duplicity once more, and should 
 this again fail him, he would be guided by circumstances. 
 Having resolved, he turned to her, and gently taking her 
 hand, which she passively permitted, he, in his blandest 
 and most musical tones, said : 
 
 "]llen, dearest Ellen idol of my heart my soul's 
 adoration you wrong me ! What you have said of suffer- 
 ing on your own part, I know to be true ; but it seems you
 
 122 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 have overlooked mine. I too have suffered under the vigi- 
 lant eyes of a suspicious father, lest our secret should be 
 discovered, and either I be ruined in prospects, or all 
 intercourse between us be broken off forever. How can 
 you accuse me for a moment, of thinking to desert you ? 
 you whom I love almost to madness, and for whom I have 
 done so much. Look around you, upon the splendors of 
 this apartment! Is there a thing here that was not pur- 
 chased with my money ? and would I have bestowed it thus, 
 had I not loved you?" 
 
 " Take back all you have given me !" said Ellen, sternly, 
 uncovering her pale face, and fixing her dark, determined, 
 unquailing eye upon his; " take back all, strip me of every 
 thing I possess, clothe me in rags, feed me on bread and 
 water, but make me your lawful wife, and I will bear all 
 without a murmur will never reproach you more nay, 
 will daily bless you, and do all that within me lies to 
 render you happy. You say you love me ! Give me the 
 proof of your hand, and I will be happy Or if not happy," 
 she added, quickly, correcting herself, "I will at least 
 make no complaints, and will ever greet your coming with 
 a smile, your going forth with a blessing." 
 
 "But," hesitated Acton, "if I were to do this, and it 
 should reach my father's ears " 
 
 " But it shall not," interrupted Ellen, " there is no neces- 
 sity of making the affair public. We can be privately 
 married, and none be the wiser of our secret." 
 
 " Well, I will see what can be done." 
 
 " Then you must see quickly, for I have set my heart 
 upon it, and it must speedily be accomplished. Ay, for 
 that matter, a license can be procured, and the ceremony 
 performed at once. Why should we delay ?" 
 
 "Certainly," returned Acton, stammering; "but you 
 see the fact is I that is "
 
 THE BETRAYER AND TITS VICTIM. 123 
 
 " Hold !" exclaimed Ellen, springing to her feet, and 
 gazing upon him with the dignified calmness of suppressed 
 passion. " Hold, Acton Atherton, ere the love I have 
 borne you turns to hate, and these hands do a deed time 
 can never undo ! I see it all ! You do not love me, and 
 never did all your false oaths to the contrary notwith- 
 standing. And now, Acton Atherton, you almost hate 
 me and for why ? Because you fancy I stand in your 
 way. Well, sir, you fancy truly. I do and will stand in 
 your way, so long as I am cursed with an existence ; and 
 if you further wrong me, my sinful spirit shall rise from 
 my grave to haunt you. Now mark me, and ponder well 
 on all I say ! for not one word will be spoken that has not 
 been carefully weighed. You are on the point, or at least 
 you think so, of forming a wealthy alliance. Nay, start 
 not, and use not your lying tongue, for you see I know 
 all ! The daughter of Calvin Morton is no small prize ; 
 and I can hardly wonder you should seek to cast off for 
 her, one whose blasted reputation, would, as your wife, 
 add nothing to your besetting sin of vanity. I do not 
 wonder, I say, you seek to cast her off for another. But 
 this may not be. Edith Morton, I learn, is an angelic 
 creature of pure virtue. She must not link herself to one 
 who has proved himself a villain. Besides, I, who now 
 stand before you a polluted wretch, was once, perhaps, as 
 good and pure as she. Who made me what I am ? You, 
 Acton Atherton you and to you I look for such repara- 
 tion as lies in your power." 
 
 " But surely, Ellen, you would not blight my fair pros- 
 pects ?" pleaded Acton, greatly astonished at her knowledge 
 of what he believed her ignorant. 
 
 " Blight your fair prospects !" repeated Ellen, with indig- 
 nant scorn : " Blight your fair prospects ! Why not ?
 
 124 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 Have you not blighted mine not only temporally but 
 eternally ?" 
 
 " But you know that was in the excess of youthful pas- --* i 
 sion, when the brain was hot." 
 
 "And having cooled on my disgrace, the passion fled,' 
 you would say?" rejoined Ellen, with the utmost difficulty * 
 suppressing a burst of indignation. $ 
 
 "Why, not exactly that, though something like it,"* 
 answered Acton, mistaking the apparent tranquility of 
 the other for something more real. " But come, let u$. 
 settle this matter amicably, as two lovers should. You have 
 a strong claim upon me, I admit ; but I am wealthy, and 
 will buy it up. By Jove ! you shall be rich ; and with 
 riches, you know, come all the other creature comforts. 
 Come, what say you ?" 
 
 It is impossible to describe the expression on the coun- 
 tenance of Ellen, as these heartless words escaped the lips 
 of her perfidious lover. It was a curious mingling of 
 scorn, hate, grief, self-reproach and remorse. In a moment, 
 as it were, the scales had fallen from her eyes, and 
 she beheld Acton Goldfinch the mean trifling villain he 
 was. A villain, to some extent, it is true, she had always 
 believed him ; but she was unprepared for such cold-hearted 
 baseness. He seemed no longer anxious to put her off with 
 even false promises, but rather to let her understand she 
 was a commodity to be trafficked with to be bought and 
 sold as a beast or slave. Hitherto, amid all .the stormy 
 passion of her ill-fated existence, there had been no period 
 when the beacon-light of hope appeared completely extin- 
 guished. It had burned dim and dimmer had been almost 
 lost sight of in the mists of the distance but still its 
 vicinity could ever be traced, and by it her frail bark had 
 been saved from destruction. Now a single breath had 
 extinguished it, and she was left to grope her way in the
 
 THE BETRAYER AND HIS WCTIM. 125 
 
 ,_ darkness. It is a terrible thing to feel utter desolation 
 to know your la,st hope is gone that you have now nothing 
 more cheerful"' to look to than death and the cold silent 
 tomb ! How it chills the heart, making the very blood that 
 courses your veins like ice-bound streams, and your soul 
 shrink within itself with a trembling, undefinable horror ! 
 
 Ellen made no loud demonstrations of anger or disap- 
 pointment ; but she looked fixedly at Acton, till his eyes, 
 that at first encountered hers triumphantly, sunk to the 
 ground, and an awe, he in vain thought to shake,off, held 
 him spell-bound and speechless. 
 
 " You have spoken," she said, in a voice so changed and 
 sepulchral that its tones startled him; "you have, in a 
 moment, turned to hate the love of one whose greatest 
 fault has hitherto been that of loving you too well. Well, 
 be it so ; but take yourself hence at once and forever ! 
 Henceforth I would forget, during the short period I may 
 survive, I have ever seen one whp bore the name of Acton 
 Atherton one whom I now hate with all the bitterness of 
 my nature. Go, sir ! begone ! and let us never meet again, 
 or I may be tempted to do what can never be undone !" 
 
 " But, dear Ellen," pleaded Acton, "you surely will not 
 follow to prosecute me? you will Jet me go my ways in 
 peace?" 
 
 " So far as this : I solemnly swear, before that Almighty 
 God in whose presence ere long I expect to stand, that if 
 in my power, I will expose you to Edith Morton, that she 
 my be saved, if she will but take heed. Further than this 
 I care not." 
 
 " You swear to do this ?" cried Acton starting up in 
 rage. 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Then, by ! you shall not !" he cried, seizing a silver 
 
 hilted dagger that rested on the table. " Sooner than be 
 11
 
 126 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 so exposed by a dishonored thing like yourself, I will let 
 out your heart's blood !" and he made towards her, as if 
 to strike her, his countenance expressive of the blackness 
 of his heart. 
 
 Ellen showed no signs of fear ; but calmly folding her 
 arms on her breast, again fixed her dark, penetrating eye 
 upon his. Acton, encountering that look, paused irresolute. 
 
 "Fool!" she said, tauntingly; "for what do you take 
 me?" And then added sternly: " Begone, Acton Atherton 
 begone !" 
 
 As he did not seem disposed to comply at once, she 
 suddenly sprung forward, and ere he was aware of her 
 object, wrenched the weapon from his hand, and wildly 
 brandished it before his eyes. 
 
 "It is my turn now," she exclaimed, triumphantly, as he 
 took a step or two backwards in alarm. " Begone, I say ! 
 or, by my mother's soul, I strike this to your heart !" 
 
 "I go," he said, hastily quitting the apartment, and 
 shutting the door behind him. "I go," he muttered again, 
 to himself; " but I will have my revenge ! She will expose 
 me, eh?" he continued, biting his lips. "Expose me 
 make me the laughing-stock and gossip of the town ! No, 
 
 no, by ! she shall not ; I will see her dead first;" and 
 
 with these dark words, uttered by his heart as well as lips, 
 he left the house. 
 
 As for Ellen, as soon as he was gone, she turned, stag- 
 gered to the sofa, and throwing herself upon it, in a 
 state of exhaustion, burst into tears. 
 
 Poor girl ! Her heart was now indeed desolate her last 
 hope had fled.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 REWARD OF DARING. 
 
 AFTER waiting in much anxiety the time appointed by 
 himself for calling upon Elmer, Edgar repaired to his lodg- 
 ings and sent up his card. In a few minutes the servant 
 returned with Elmer's compliments, (who was too busy 
 himself to see any one) and a package neatly sealed, which 
 Edgar took with a trembling hand and beating heart, for 
 this he rightly judged contained the so long wished for 
 decision. As soon as he was alone in the street, he hurri- 
 edly broke it open, and to his dismay found it to contain 
 only his own manuscript and the following note : 
 
 " Mr. Elmer begs leave to return Mr. Courtly his manu- 
 script not from want of merit, for it is an excellent 
 production but simply because he has selected one written 
 by a friend which will answer his purpose." 
 
 " And for this I have struggled, and toiled, and hoped !" 
 said Edgar, bitterly, rending the manuscript into a thousand 
 pieces, and scattering them like snow-flakes upon the earth. 
 " Well, well, well the fates are against me, so why should 
 I contend with my destiny. 0, man ! selfish, cruel, un- 
 feeling man ! 0, that I could forever fly your sight, and 
 in some far off" wilderness end my days ! Alas ! poor 
 Virginia ! she will weep when she knows my success, for 
 she sanguinely counted on my gaining the prize. But I 
 will seek again for manual labor. I must have something 
 wherewith to cheer her. But stay, let me look at this paper 
 
 (127)
 
 128 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 again;" and taking one of the daily journals from his 
 pocket, he opened and read : 
 
 " The noble stranger, who a day or two since so heroi- 
 cally saved the life of a lady in Centre street, at the risk 
 of his own, is particularly requested to call at No. , Eighth 
 Avenue, where he will find friends who are not ungrate- 
 ful." 
 
 " This is certainly a curious coincidence, or I must be 
 the person meant," mused Edgar ; " and if so something 
 advantageous may come of my answering the advertisement. 
 Saved the life of a lady in Centre street ! Well it was in 
 Centre street I checked the running horse, which, perad- 
 venture, left to himself, would have dashed the lady to 
 pieces. At all events there can be no harm in ascertaining 
 who is referred to, and I will go." 
 
 Putting his determination in practice, Edgar in due time 
 found himself before a stately mansion rivalling, if not 
 surpassing, his uncle's in splendor of appearance on the 
 door of which, engraved on a silver plate, he read the 
 name of Calvin Morton. 
 
 " Can this be the place ?" he asked himself, and again 
 had recourse to the advertisement. 
 
 Yes, it must be, for the numbers tallied; and looking 
 at his thread-bare garments, then at the beautiful marble 
 steps, the silver bell-handle, and the high windows, hung 
 with white and damask curtains, Edgar was debating whe- 
 ther to venture a ring or depart, when a female, richly 
 dressed, but double-veiled for concealment, passed him 
 hurriedly, and then paused, and like himself gazed curi- 
 ously upon the handsome structure. Then ascending the 
 steps, she took hold of the bell-handle, looked around 
 eagerly, partly raised her veil, gave one glance at Edgar, 
 veiled herself again quickly, and, without ringing at all,
 
 REWARD OF DARING. 129 
 
 descended the steps in haste, and departed in much appa- 
 rent agitation. 
 
 " Strange !" mused Edgar ; "what can this mean ? Some 
 new mystery, I suppose. Those features surely, I have 
 seen them before ! Ha ! now I bethink me, but for the 
 place where I find her, I could almost swear they were 
 those of Ellen Douglas." 
 
 Edgar might have so sworn with impunity, for Ellen 
 Douglas it was ; and the reader will doubtless find less 
 cause to marvel at her appearance there and manner than 
 he did. 
 
 Decided at last to enter, Edgar rang the bell ; and on 
 inquiring of the servant for Mr. Morton, was shown into a 
 library at the fair end of the hall, where sat a mild, middle- 
 aged gentleman, plainly dressed, of benevolent aspect, 
 who looked up through his spectacles from among a huge 
 pile of books with which he was partly surrounded, and to 
 which it would seem he made frequent reference, as many 
 of them were lying open. Before him was a table strewn 
 with manuscripts, and in his hand a pen, which, as he care- 
 lessly nodded Edgar to a seat, he dipped in ink, and com- 
 menced writing with great vigor and haste. For some- 
 thing like five minutes, he neither looked up nor spoke ; 
 and Edgar, fancying himself an unwelcome intruder, at 
 last rose to take his leave, when the other, motioning with 
 his hand for him to be seated, said hurriedly : 
 
 " In a moment, sir." 
 
 Edgar sat down again, but found the moment of another 
 five minutes' duration ; and picking up a huge volume by 
 his side, he was fast becoming interested in a statute on 
 forgery for the books were those of the law when the 
 gentleman, putting down his pen, moving back his chair, 
 and slipping up his spectacles, said : 
 
 "Now, sir, I am at your service." 
 11*
 
 130 THE FORGED "WILL. 
 
 " I beg pardon for intruding upon you wljile so busy," 
 began Edgar ; " but seeing this advertisement, (pointing 
 to it) I thought I would answer it." 
 
 " What !" cried Morton, his whole manner and expres- 
 sion changing from a cold business air to one of eager, 
 delighted surprise, " are you the young man who so nobly 
 saved the life of my dear daughter Edith?" 
 
 " Of that," said Edgar, "I am not certain, and you may 
 mean another. I saw a lady in danger, however, from a 
 runaway horse ; and thinking it possible to save her, I 
 stepped forward, knocked the animal down, and, as she 
 was thrown, caught her in my arms." 
 
 "It was you, then!" cried Morton, starting up, and 
 seizing Edgar by the hand, which he shook long and 
 heartily. " God bless you, sir, for the deed ! God bless 
 you ! I say and I mean it. But for you, I should now 
 
 be childless, and then, oh ! But I will not think 
 
 of that. Come, come let us to the parlor, and Edith 
 shall thank you in person." 
 
 "I pray you excuse me," said Edgar, coloring ; " for you 
 see I am hardly in fit condition to enter a lady's pre- 
 sence ;" and he glanced wofully over his well-worn, faded 
 garments. 
 
 " Poh ! poh ! young man don't talk to me of dress. 
 Look at me, sir ! Mine is but little, if any, better than 
 yours. Dress is nothing, sir nothing ; a mere tailor can 
 make that. The mind, sir the mind the soul is every 
 thing : that is the jewel to look to, and that is of God's 
 manufacture. But come with me come! Bid I hear 
 your name ?" 
 
 "Edgar Courtly." 
 
 " And a fine name it is, too. I once did some business 
 for a namesake of yours, and found him a perfect gentle-
 
 REWARD OF DARING. 131 
 
 man. Perhaps some relation ! He was from Baltimore, 
 and his Christian name Ethan." 
 
 My father !" exclaimed Edgar, with a start of surprise. 
 
 " Your father !" rejoined the other, in equal astonish- 
 ment. " God bless you ! you come of good stock. But 
 fortune changes, I see," he added, glancing at Edgar's 
 faded garments. " When I knew your father, he was rich. 
 How fares he now?" 
 
 "Alas, sir, he *has been five years dead!" answered 
 Edgar, mournfully. 
 
 " Ah ! indeed ! sorry to hear it. He was a gentleman, 
 every inch of him. And your mother ?" 
 
 " She she too is is dead," said Edgar, vainly striving 
 to suppress the tears that came bursting through his eye- 
 lids. " My father died worth near a million my mother 
 starved to death in a land of plenty." 
 
 "Starved, say you, Mr. Courtly? Good Heaven! I 
 trust not starved ?" 
 
 " Ay, Mr. Morton, starved, and in this very city. But 
 wo to them that did it for so sure as there is a God in 
 heaven, their damnable deeds shall recoil upon their guilty 
 heads, even to the third and fourth generation !" 
 
 " Of whom do you speak, Mr. Courtly ? Has wrong 
 been done you?" 
 
 " Ay, sir, the foulest ! But come, you knew my father, 
 you seem to take an interest in my fate, and, to make us 
 better acquainted, I will give you a sketch of my history." 
 
 "Do so you could not confer a greater pleasure," 
 returned Morton. 
 
 By this time the two had reached the parlor, and taking 
 seats, Edgar at once proceeded to sketch the most promi- 
 nent events of his past life, not overlooking the villainy of 
 his uncle. 
 
 " Great Heaven ! how much you have suffered !" ejacu
 
 132 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 lated Morton, as the other paused. " And no one left but 
 yourself and sister, and you almost starving ! Well, well, 
 thank God! I have enough; and while Calvin Morton 
 lives, you shall not need a friend. But who is this base 
 uncle ? and where can he be found ? The miscreant ! he 
 shall be exposed, let him be whom he may, if such a thing 
 be in my power." 
 
 " And yet," rejoined Edgar, " should I tell you his name, 
 you would be tempted to discredit my s'tory." 
 
 " Not I, in faith," said Morton ; " for your story comes 
 too much from the heart to be an imposition. I have seen 
 and studied too much of human nature, I fancy, to be 
 easily deceived.' 
 
 " What say you, then, to Oliver Atherton !" 
 
 Had a bolt of lightning at that moment descended from 
 the heavens and torn up the ground beneath his feet, 
 Morton would scarcely have exhibited greater astonishment 
 and dismay than at this simple announcement. 
 
 "Oliver Atherton?" he exclaimed. "No, no, Mr. 
 Courtly there must be some mistake ! for he, I assure 
 you, bears a stainless reputation, and is one of our most 
 opulent citizens." 
 
 " If there is any mistake," said Edgar, " it must be on 
 your part, in not knowing him so well as I. But I here 
 tell you, under oath if you like, that noble, and rich, and 
 stainless in reputation, as he is, it was Oliver Atherton 
 who took possession of my father's property, and afterward? 
 denied his own sister, refusing her money to buy food, even 
 when she was dying of starvation." 
 
 "Be this so, may God's curses light upon him!" said 
 Morton, a good deal excited. 
 
 "And they will on him and his sooner or later," 
 returned Edgar. "All things find their level at last." 
 
 "And my Edith is as good as engaged to his son."
 
 REWARD OF DARING. 133 
 
 " To Acton !" cried Edgar. 
 
 " The same." 
 
 " Then as you love your daughter, forbid the banns, and 
 all further intercourse for he is a villain of but little 
 remove from the blackness of his father. Now I see it all ; 
 and it was to this lady Ellen alluded, when he said he 
 should never marry her," continued Edgar, as if to him- 
 self; " and it was she, then, I saw at the door ! She came 
 to warn Edith; and no wonder she was agitated, poor 
 girl!" 
 
 " Of whom are you speaking, Mr. Courtly?" 
 
 " Of the victim of Acton Atherton poor Ellen Douglas !" 
 answered Edgar; " of her who so generously supplied me 
 with money, when my mother lay a corpse, and her living 
 children had not wherewithal to keep them long from joining 
 her ; of one who has been most foully, most damnably 
 wronged!" and Edgar proceeded to detail what he knew 
 of Ellen and her seducer. 
 
 " And this is the man that aspires to the hand of my 
 daughter !" said Morton, when Edgar had done. " 0, the 
 scoundrel ! But his cause here is hopeless. Edith shall 
 know all ; and if you have told me true, which I believe, 
 she shall spurn him hence as a worthless dog. But speaking 
 of Edith, reminds me you have not seen her to receive her 
 grateful thanks. Excuse my neglect ; but so taken up was 
 I with your story, I forgot all else;" and as he spoke, he 
 rung a bell. 
 
 "Bid my daughter and her mother come hither at 
 once," he said to the servant; and scarcely three minutes 
 elapsed, ere the door opened, and Mrs. Morton, followed 
 by Edith, entered. 
 
 The former was a fine, matronly-looking lady of forty, 
 with nothing to distinguish her, unless it was a mild, sweet, 
 benevolent expression, which lingered on her open features
 
 134 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 as naturally as sunlight upon a flower, and inspired the 
 beholder at once with confidence and pleasure. 
 
 But the countenance of Edith was marked not so much 
 with the strong lines of light and shade, which the artist 
 readily seizes and transfers to canvas, as with the expres- 
 sion of intellect and nobleness of soul that was every where 
 visible, but more especially in her soft, gray eyes, which 
 sweetly beamed through their long lashes, like the sun of 
 an unclouded summer's morn gently struggling through a 
 grove of weeping willows. Not a feature but was perfectly 
 moulded ; and yet not on one, nor on all combined, could you 
 fix the beauty which you acknowledged as both triumphant 
 and charming. Chisel them in marble, let the soul be 
 wanting, and they would be but marble still, as unattractive 
 as tne face of a doll; but light them with the intellect 
 they now displayed, and they spoke to you more eloquently 
 than the tongue of an orator. Around a face of classic 
 mould, and over a beautifiil neck of alabaster whiteness, 
 that rounded off a swelling bust, floated a mass of golden 
 ringlets, less the work of art than nature. A dimpled 
 hand and form of airy lightness, elastic with the fresh 
 vigor of seventeen summers, made Edith Morton an object 
 not to be lightly passed over by one susceptible of woman's 
 charms. 
 
 And such an one was our hero, who, as at a single glance 
 he took in all we have described, felt his frame thrill with 
 an emotion to which he had hitherto been a stranger. For a 
 moment, as she entered, his eyes encountered hers ; and 
 then his gaze instantly dropped to the ground ; and for the 
 first time, perhaps, in his life, he felt really embarrassed in 
 the presence of a lady. He could not but remember now, 
 with a feeling of pride he had not before experienced, it was 
 this lovely being's life he had saved that to him she owed 
 the sweetest of all debts, the gratitude of a grateful heart.
 
 REWARD OF DARING. 135 
 
 " My wife and daughter," spoke Morton, " allow me to 
 present to you Edgar Courtly, the noble young man to 
 whom Edith is indebted for her life." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, was it you ?" said Mrs. Morton, seizing 
 both the hands of Edgar in her own, and pressing them 
 warmly. " May Heaven bless you, young man, for the 
 heroic deed! Here, Edith, come and thank him !" 
 
 "I do, mother," returned Edith, approaching and 
 modestly extending her hand to Edgar, who took it in one, 
 that, in spite of himself, trembled : " 1 do thank him, from, 
 my very soul." 
 
 Her eyes, as she spoke, were looking sweetly into his ; 
 but from some cause, as she concluded, they sunk toward 
 the ground, and a bright tint heightened the beauty of 
 her cheeks. Edgar would have given the world to speak 
 freely ; but somehow his tongue, at all other times an obe- 
 dient member, now clove to his mouth ; and it was not 
 till after two or three vain attempts^ he managed to articu- 
 late, in a tremulous voice : 
 
 "I did but my duty." 
 
 " So say all high minded persons, when they do a noble 
 act," rejoined Mr. Morton ; " but the- obligation is none the 
 less binding on our part, that you are pleased to consider 
 the matter in so modest a light. Eh ! Edith, what think 
 
 you?" 
 
 " That I shall never be able to repay Mr. Courtly for 
 what he terms a simple act of duty." 
 
 " Not so, Miss Morton ; I am repaid already, a thousand 
 times ay, even were my claim to your gratitude a thou- 
 sand times greater than it is," returned Edgar, with an 
 earnestness of tone and manner that again brought the 
 bright crimson to the lovely face of Edith, and made his 
 own blush correspondingly. 
 
 " As the preserver of my life, at the risk of your own, I
 
 136 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 can never cease to remember you with gratitude." rejoined 
 Edith, in a voice full of music to the soul of Edgar, accom- 
 panied as it was with a sweet but modest smile. 
 
 " Who would not," he thought to himself, "have done as 
 much for a like reward ?" 
 
 " To cut matters short, and end any thing like formality," 
 joined in Mr. Morton, "you must know, Edgar excuse the 
 familiarity I take with your Christian name that we all 
 feel ourselves under the deepest obligations to you, and will 
 do all in our power to cancel the debt. Look upon this 
 house, sir, as your home, and to me for any assistance you 
 may need." 
 
 The earnest manner in which this was spoken, showed 
 Edgar, conclusively, the speaker was sincere ; and so 
 affected him, that the tears sprung to his eyes, and it was 
 with difficulty, as he grasped the other's proffered hand of 
 friendship, he could articulate : 
 
 "God bless you ! Hot through you my day seems dawning 
 once more." 
 
 " Ah, poor r youth, God grant it ! for it is high time, 
 methinks, it dawned again to you. Yours has indeed been 
 a stormy night of wretchedness. And your poor sister 
 Heaven pardon me ! I had almost forgotten her bring her 
 here, and she shall have a home and be as my daughter." 
 
 "You overwhelm me," returned Edgar, tremulously, 
 brushing away an obdurate tear. 
 
 "Have you then a sister?" cried Edith, eagerly. " 0, 
 by all means, bring her here ! for I know I shall love her 
 so." 
 
 "Ay, do, Mr. Courtly, do !" chimed in Mrs. Morton. 
 " Edith has often wished for a sister, and yours shall be 
 hers." 
 
 " And, mother, we will send the carriage for her at once," 
 pursued Edith, with an expression of heart-felt eagerness-
 
 REWARD OF DARING. 137 
 
 " 0, I am so anxious to see her ! Ring, father, for the 
 coachman!" 
 
 " Nay, I would that you let me prepare my sister first," 
 interposed Edgar gently. " To-morrow, if so you desire it, 
 I will conduct her hither myself." 
 
 "We must perforce wait your pleasure," smiled Edith ; 
 ' though the sooner you hring her, the better I shall be 
 pleased. Does she resemble you ?" she inquired naively. 
 
 "There is, some say, a slight resemblance," replied 
 Edgar ; " but in justice to dear Virginia, I must own she 
 is younger and far the best looking." 
 
 Edith looked as though she thought the latter impossible ; 
 but simply said, in an artless tone, that again brought the 
 blood to Edgar's cheek : 
 
 " 0, I know I shall love her. Virginia ! what a sweet, 
 beautiful name !" 
 
 Edgar just then thought Edith full as sweet. 
 
 In the like manner the conversation proceeded for half 
 an hour, when Mr. Morton, on the plea of business, recon- 
 ducted Edgar to the library. As the latter took leave of 
 the ladies, both Mrs. Morton and Edith pressed him warmly 
 to tarry for dinner, and made Mr. Morton promise to do 
 his best to detain him. What a wonderful change a little 
 time had wrought in the condition and feelings of Edgar. An 
 hour before he was an object for commiseration, and felt too 
 wretched to exist. Now he was surrounded by influential 
 friends, and would not have exchanged places with the 
 proudest monarch. 0, uncertain life ! 0, vacillating human 
 nature ! We are but puny chess men, changed at the will 
 of the Great Player, and are much or nothing, according 
 to our position in relation to one another. 
 
 "Edgar Courtly," said Mr. Morton, abruptly, as they 
 entered the library, "there is something about you I like." 
 
 " Thank you," returned Edgar, coloring. 
 12
 
 138 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " Stop ! no thanks, sir ! at least none for me for 1 
 want nothing but what is my own ; and thanks for liking 
 you, is much like thanking a man to eat a good dinner at 
 your expense. No, Edgar ; if you thank any body, thank 
 God, for having made you what you are one of his noblest 
 works. There, stop, now don't interrupt me !" he con- 
 tinued, as he saw Edgar, about to make reply. " Don't 
 interrupt me, I repeat ! for I am a singular man, and like 
 to say what I think without hindrance or contradiction. 
 It is seldom I tell a man I like him, for I see very few I 
 can say thus to and speak the truth, and it is my rule to 
 speak nothing but what I mean. But a truce to this. I 
 have no time to spare ; as an important case, which comes 
 on in two days, requires all my time and closest attention. 
 To be brief, then, what can I do for you ?" 
 
 " A thousand thanks for your offer ! but I require 
 nothing at present." 
 
 " You seemed annoyed at the appearance of your dress, 
 when I first invited you to join the ladies. You are a 
 young man, have your fortune to make, and I appreciate 
 your feelings for dress, in the eyes of the world, is every 
 thing. Here is a check for fifty dollars." 
 
 " No, Mr. Morton, a thousand thanks for your gene- 
 rosity ! but I will accept nothing, unless you show me a 
 way to earn it first." 
 
 " Rightly spoken, like a noble spirited youth ! You 
 would make a capital lawyer methinks. What say you to 
 the profession ?" 
 
 " It is precisely to my mind." 
 
 " Will you take me for a tutor ?" 
 
 " The very favor I would have asked." 
 
 " Enough ! Consider the matter settled. I can pay 
 you what salary I please, you know. Come to-morrow,
 
 REWARD OF DARING. 139 
 
 sir, and bring your sister, and I will put you to the task. 
 Shall I see you at dinner ?" 
 
 "Not to-day, as my sister would be uneasy at my 
 absence." 
 
 "I shall see you to-morrow, then?" 
 
 " God willing, you will." 
 
 " Will you accept this money in advance ?" 
 
 " Not to-day, I thank you !" 
 
 " And so Oliver Atherton is the uncle who so basely 
 used you !" he said, musingly, making an abrupt change 
 to the subject that, now bore upon his mind. "Ay! 
 ay! I must look to this I must look to this. If I 
 can get any hold upon him, friend Edgar, you shall 
 have justice. And Acton is a villain, too ! So, so this 
 shall be attended to. To-morrow I shall look for you 
 early. Good morning, sir good morning, Edgar !" and 
 turning quickly away, the lawyer resumed his writing, 
 without deigning even another look at his visiter. 
 
 As Edgar quitted the mansion and slowly took his way 
 homeward, he mused, with a lightened heart, upon the 
 events we have just described upon the curious chain of 
 circumstances which had so suddenly placed him on terms 
 of intimacy with one of the most opulent families of 
 the city upon the striking contrast between him he had 
 just parted from and his own uncle but, most of all, upon 
 the sweetly smiling countenance, the light and sylph-like 
 form, and the soft, melodious voice of the fair and lovely 
 Edith Morton.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FORTUNE STILL PROPITIOUS. 
 
 BUT the happy termination of his visit to the Mortons, 
 was not the only high favor Edgar was that morning des- 
 tined to receive from the hands of capricious fortune. 
 Scarcely had he proceeded half a dozen squares, when, as 
 chance would have it, he met with Dudley. 
 
 "The very person I desired to see," said the latter, 
 with a cordial shake of the hand. " I was even now on 
 my way to your dwelling." 
 
 "Happily met, then," replied Edgar, "for I am home- 
 ward bound;" and joining arms, the two proceeded on 
 their way. 
 
 After some casual remarks on unimportant topics, Dud- 
 ley said : 
 
 " Pardon me, Mr. Courtly but may I inquire how you 
 succeeded in the matter you had in view when last I saw 
 you, as regards pecuniary recompense ?" 
 
 "It proved an entire failure," answered Edgar. 
 
 " Then, my friend, if you will allow me so to call you, I 
 am both grieved and rejoiced at the same time grieved, 
 that you should have -been disappointed rejoiced, that I 
 have it in my power to assist you. Since I saw you I 
 have thought of you much, and of your sister also, and 
 have puzzled my brain no little as .to how I could be of 
 service to you and not wound your sensitive feelings. 
 Now the case is this ; one of my warmest friends is a 
 young man named Clarence Malcolm, who is rich in this 
 (140)
 
 FORTUNE STILL PROPITIOUS. 141 
 
 world's goods, and, what is perhaps somewhat rare, as 
 benevolent as he is wealthy. All that I know is known to 
 him, and vice versa, for our minds are as one mind, and 
 consequently your history has been stated to him, exactly 
 as to myself. The result is, that he desires me to entreat 
 you to accept this as a loan, until such time as you may 
 feel yourself able to return it without the least inconveni- 
 ence." 
 
 As he spoke Dudley extended to Edgar a small purse 
 of gold, which the latter gently waved back, saying : 
 
 Be so kind as to return Clarence Malcolm, whom I 
 have never seen, my warmest thanks, and tell him I do 
 not feel myself in a condition at present to borrow, even 
 on his own generous terms. I have already refused a kind 
 offer this morning, simply because my pride revolted at 
 the idea of taking money to which I had no claim. I have 
 never borrowed but once, and then most stern necessity 
 forced me against my will. Let me have a chance to 
 return an equivalent in the shape of labor, either mentally 
 or physically, and I will accept the money with pleasure 
 but on no other conditions." 
 
 Dudley seemed both pleased and displeased at this 
 answer. 
 
 " I admire both your spirit and principle," he said, after 
 musing a short time ; " but still would be better satisfied to 
 have you accept my offer without further parley. To 
 speak candidly, I think you a little too scrupulous though, 
 if placed in your situation, I should, in all probability, do 
 precisely the same ; and this, by the way, happily illus- 
 trates the principle, that we often preach what we never 
 practise. You spoke of mental labor am I to understand 
 you compose ?" 
 
 " I have done a trifle in that way," answered Edgar, 
 modestly, "though nothing worthy of notice." 
 12*
 
 142 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed the other, brightening with a new 
 thought ; " I am pleased to learn you write at all. Poetry 
 or prose ?" 
 
 "The former has been my choice, and consequently 
 most of lay execution, though the latter has come in for a 
 trifling share." 
 
 " Have you ever published ?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " Because my productions are unworthy." 
 
 " And for the very reason you think so, I will wager 
 they are worthy some of our best poets. True merit, 
 friend Edgar, is always modest, for it requires no ordinary 
 talent to perceive our own defects. By the way, would 
 you like to see your productions in print ?" 
 
 "Why," hesitated Edgar, " if of sufficient merit." 
 
 " I will venture that, and yet have never seen a line from 
 your pen. Come, I will bargain with you. Will you 
 sell what poems you have on hand?" 
 
 " But they are worthless, I tell you." 
 
 " That is not answering my question. Will you sell ? 
 Come, do not hesitate ! I have a speculation in view, of 
 which I will tell you nothing now, save that to complete it 
 I must purchase your poems. Come, what say you ? I 
 will give a hundred dollars for what you have on hand." 
 
 " You flatter me, Mr. Dudley," returned Edgar, some- 
 what staggered at the offer ; " but really, I cannot take 
 Buch advantage of your generosity." 
 
 " Never look for generosity in a bargain, Mr. Courtly ; 
 for both buyer and seller, considering their shrewdness at 
 stake, will give nothing then, lest the one boast of his 
 cunning in overreaching the other. In a gift there is 
 generosity but none in a trade ; so set your mind at rest 
 on that score, and consider whether you are willing to take
 
 FORTUNE STILL PROPITIOUS. 143 
 
 the paltry sum of a hundred dollars for your productions. 
 Of one thing rest assured that I have an object in buying ; 
 and that J, for one, shall be perfectly satisfied, provided 
 you think I have not underpaid you. Say, is it a bargain ? 
 or shall I give more ?" 
 
 "Why, since you press me," replied Edgar, "and since 
 I so sorely need^the money, they are yours, on condition 
 you find them not so good as you expected, you will con- 
 sider yourself under no obligation to take them." 
 
 "I accept your offer," returned Dudley, with a gleam of/ 
 delight. "Now, sWeast," he added mentally, "I have 
 the means of forcing money upon him without wounding 
 his sensitive feelings." Then he continued aloud : " By-tlue 1 
 by, how would you like to take charge of a magazine or 80 
 newspaper?" 
 
 "Were I deemed competent, and the proposition had 
 been made me a few hours ago, nothing would have pleased 
 me better," answered Edgar; "but now I hold myself par- 
 tially engaged to Calvin Morton." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Dudley, in a tone of surprise. 
 " If to read law, you are most fortunate ; for he stands the 
 very first in his profession ; and is, besides, a gentleman of 
 the right school.'* 
 
 " You know him, then ?" 
 
 " Better than I know you." 
 
 "You seem in fact to know every one." 
 
 " You must bear in mind, I am a native of the city have 
 lived here all my days have mingled no little in society, 
 and consequently have been brought in contact with nearly 
 all the old citizens. But truly, I am delighted at jour 
 prospects ; for very few have the honor and good fortune 
 to read law under the tuition of Calvin Morton. I am 
 curious to know by what means you effected the arrange- 
 ment."
 
 144 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 Edgar at once proceeded to narrate the Circumstance 
 which had led to this result. As he Cteeladted, Dudley 
 grasped his hand and shook it heartily. 
 
 " Let me congratulate you," he said, " on a fortune in 
 prospective ; for you have put one under obligations who 
 will never rest content till he has seen you on the high road 
 to wealth and renown. Calvin Morton is a very singular 
 man. He seldom forgives an injury or insult he never 
 forgets a favor, no matter how trivial. With him there is 
 no half way. He loves or he hates. Unlike what you 
 represent your uncle, there is no^ussembling. As a 
 general thing, what he thinks he says, and what he says 
 he means. And as to his daughter, the fair Edith, a 
 SAveeter creature does not live. What ! Hushing, eh ! So, 
 so then you readily believe all I can say of her, I see. 
 Well, I must repeat, I think you very, very fortunate. 
 Speaking of your uncle, reminds me that Clarence, 
 who visits there occasionally, has promised to sift the 
 matter regarding what you told me, to the very bottom ; 
 and if he can prove he has acted basely, he will expose his 
 hypocrisy, and hold him up to the scorn of all honest 
 men." 
 
 Conversing thus, Edgar and Dudley at last reached the 
 abode of the former. Virginia, as Edgar entered in ad- 
 vance of his friend, at once flew to embrace him ; but on 
 perceiving who followed, she paused, blushed, and in an 
 embarrassed manner, while she timidly proffered her hand, 
 said: 
 
 " You have taken me by surprise, Mr. Dudley: I thought 
 Edgar was alone."' 
 
 " Let me hope the surprise does not prove a disagreeable 
 one!" returned Dudley, earnestly, with a flushed coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 " 0, no, no !" rejoined Virginia, with sudden energy,
 
 FORTUNE STILL PROPITIOUS. 145 
 
 looking full in the face of her guest ; and then immediately 
 added, letting jier gaze sink modestly to the ground ; " The 
 friends of my brother are always welcome." 
 
 " I trust," rejoined Dudley, in a low bland tone, " I 
 may be considered the friend of both !" 
 
 Virginia embarrassed, did not reply, though evidently 
 desirous to do so, .which Edgar perceiving, quickly came 
 to her aid, by sa^hg : 
 
 We are both proud, I assure you, Mr. Dudley, of your 
 disinterested friendship for disinterested it is, since we 
 have all and you nothing to gain by it." 
 
 " Ah, my dear friend, you mistake entirely," responded 
 Dudley, with a smile, "in supposing there can be such a 
 thing as disinterested friendship. Whatever gratifies, 
 interests us ; and where either our pride, vanity, sympathies, 
 or more common place feelings are enlisted, we cannot be 
 wholly disinterested. It is a prevalent idea, that when 
 one performs a noble act and conceals it from the world, 
 he does it through disinterested motives. But it is not so, 
 His self-approving conscience is his reward ; and that kind 
 of reward being what he seeks, and of more gratification to 
 him than the world's applause, becomes the motive incentive 
 to action. In friendship, especially there is self to gratify 
 on both sides ; for where self is not enlisted, there can be 
 no interest ; where interest is wanting, there must be indif- 
 ference ; and where is indifference,, there can be no friend- 
 ship. We may call friendship disinterested, to distinguish 
 it from the seeming friendship of base self-interest which 
 latter, in my opinion, is unworthy the ennobling name of 
 the former though even in the purest of 'the former, if we 
 look into it closely, we shall find self the basis on which 
 the fabric is reared. But I am running into dissertation, 
 where I only intended a simple explanation, and so will 
 conclude ere I tax your patience too far."
 
 146 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 But on such and similar topics Edgar never wearied of 
 conversing ; and the two friends continued in a pleasant 
 discussion for more than an hour, gradually passing from one 
 subject to another, as each was suggested by a continuous 
 train of ideas. 
 
 Virginia, though for the most part silent, occasionally 
 joined in and expressed her views, in a manner that both 
 surprised and pleased her guest, who acknowledged to 
 himself he had not before given her credit for one-half the 
 mind she really possessed. Her remarks were ever terse, 
 concise, and to the point ; and what was still further evi- 
 dence of good judgment, were always well-timed; and 
 Dudley, discovering all this with delight, could not but 
 admire her and admit to himself she was one of the most 
 lovely, intelligent and fascinating of her sex certainly a 
 great deal to be admitted by one who had seen so much of 
 intellectual society, in favor of one he now beheld for the 
 second time. 
 
 And how was it with Virginia ? She gazed upon the 
 handsome countenance of Dudley, she listened to the full, 
 rich, melody of his voice, and marked the lofty and not 
 unfrequently poetical and original sentiment which flowed 
 from his lips, with feelings both new and strange to her 
 the while she took no note of Time, who, casting aside his 
 glass, and renewing his youth for the nonce, now flew by 
 on the wings of lightning. 
 
 Passing from one thing to another, the conversation at 
 last turned upon poetry, a theme with which all were 
 familiar, and in which all were alike interested. 
 
 " 0, above all things, do I love poetry !" said Virginia, 
 with enthusiasm : and then she added, a moment after, iu 
 a faltering tone, vainly struggling to suppress her emotion : 
 " And so did our poor, dear mother." 
 
 For a short time there was a dead silence ; and the tears
 
 FORTUNE STILL PROPITIOUS. 147 
 
 sprung from the eyes of both Edgar and his sister, as they 
 thought upon her who had so loved, but who was forever 
 gone from among them. Even Dudley was much affected 
 at witnessing their silent grief ; but knowing it both useless 
 and detrimental, since it could not restore the dead and 
 must impair the energies of the living, he began, in a mild, 
 soothing tone, to console, and gradually lead their thoughts 
 back to their previous channel. 
 
 " We should not mourn too much," he said, " for those 
 who have preceded us only for a brief space at the longest ; 
 but rather console ourselves with the thought, that earth 
 is not our abiding place, and that we are destined to meet 
 again in that bright realm where the poetry of music makes 
 an eternal melody to delight us forever. And speaking of 
 poetry again who among the great masters of song is your 
 favorite, Edgar ?" 
 
 "It is difficult for me to say," replied the latter, drying 
 his eyes, " for each is my favorite in his particular sphere. 
 When I read Milton, I think none can approach him, for he 
 is great in sublimity; and in his masterly conceptions of 
 what we never saw, stands pre-eminent a something enno- 
 bled, exalted and inspired far above frail humanity, and 
 almost beyond human comprehension. I read Shakespeare, 
 and feel he is equally great in his line that of creating 
 what we have seen, and depicting all the varying passions 
 of the human heart. I read Byron, and love him for his 
 wild grandeur of thought, when he grapples with the dark 
 spirits of the storm, expands his soul over the mighty relics 
 of the past, throws out the sarcasm of a noble heart on the 
 villainies of a hollow-hearted world, or portrays, with an 
 immortal pen, the grandest scenes in nature -and art. I 
 delight in the melodies of Moore, for when I drink hi3 
 flowery thoughts, I ever fancy myself reposing on a bed of 
 roses, beside some murmuring stream, whose continual rip-
 
 148 THE FORGED WILL 
 
 pie sings me to a quiet sleep. The argument and classic 
 beauty of Pope excite my admiration, and the poetical 
 romance of Scott is a source of unalloyed pleasure. Take 
 them all in all, it is impossible for me to select my partic- 
 ular favorite ; for like the dishes on a table at a feast, we 
 needs must take . a little of each, to satisfy our changing 
 desires and make our repast complete." 
 
 "You have expressed my own views and feelings, as 
 regards the great poets, better than I could have done my- 
 eelf," rejoined Dudley, delightedly. "And now that I 
 have had your opinion, I must see your own composition." 
 
 "Nay," said Edgar, blushing, "since we have been 
 speaking of the great masters, I am really ashamed to dis- 
 play my humble efforts." 
 
 " You should remember, my friend, that all were begin- 
 ners once ; and that no one could have predicted, from a 
 first attempt, that a Milton, a Shakespeare, or a Byron 
 would follow. Nature has never produced what she cannot 
 again ; and so we may even look to see poets of the present 
 become as great as the greatest of the past." 
 
 " Well, as you have bargained for my effusions, unseen, 
 you of course have a right to examine your purchase," 
 rejoined Edgar ; " and this shall be my apology for bring- 
 ing them forward;" and retiring into the adjoining apart- . 
 ment, he shortly returned with a package of some dozen 
 articles, neatly written and folded with care. 
 
 Dudley seized them with avidity, and, in spite of Edgar's 
 protestations, opened and began to raruse them. 
 
 "Beautiful!" he exclaimed, as his eye run rapidly over 
 the first; "beautiful ! Ah, better still !" he pursued, as he 
 concluded the second. And then hastily scanning the 
 others, he added, grasping Edgar's hand : " My friend, I 
 do not wish to flatter you, but, for a first attempt, I have 
 never seen any thing to compare with these. I have reason
 
 FORTUNE STILL PROPITIOUS. 149 
 
 to rejoice at my bargain. Here is your money;" and he 
 counted Edgar down a hundred dollars in gold. 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the feelings of the 
 latter, as he modestly accepted the reward of his toil. It 
 was gold honestly earned, and it was his : gold paid to his 
 genius : gold that told him he had talents above the herd 
 that at least he was fit for something ; and as he thought 
 over the events of the day, his eyes brightened, his soul 
 seemed to expand, and with a sort of giddiness, common to 
 first success, he already fancied he stood on the dizzy heights 
 of fame and beheld an admiring world at his feet. As for 
 Virginia, she was all bewilderment ; for the whole proceed- 
 ing was a mystery to her ; but she saw her brother had at 
 least the means of living, and her heart bounded with 
 delight at the thought. 
 
 "When next we meet," said Dudley, as he rose to take 
 leave, " I trust I shall see you both in a station befitting 
 your early years and education ;" and pressing the hands 
 of both warmly, but with a heightened color as his own 
 touched Virginia's, he departed. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, Edgar sat down, drew his sister 
 upon his knee, kissed her sweet lips, and, in a voice tremu- 
 lous with joy, told her all that had happened, and the 
 bright prospects now in store for them ; and both mingled 
 their tears of gladness, that the night of their sorrow was 
 passing away and a day of brightness was already dawn- 
 ing. 
 
 " We must not appear before our new friends in the.se 
 faded garments," ^said Edgar; "and now that I have 
 money, honestly my own, let us forth and make some pur- 
 chases. Oh, that our poor mother were living ! how .this 
 would make her heart rejoice !" 
 
 Carrying out his own suggestion, Edgar purchased a 
 ready-made suit for himself, and a handsome black drcba 
 13
 
 150 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 and bonnet for his sister ; and when they had donned their 
 new habiliments, each congratulating the other on appearing 
 again as in the days of their prosperity. 
 
 " And now," said Virginia, as she carefully folded the 
 cast off garments, " let us preserve these, should fortune 
 prove propitious once more, to remind us of our days, of 
 adversity ; so that when we behold our fellows suffering, 
 we may remember what we have endured, and not forget to 
 be charitable." 
 
 "As you will," replied Edgar: "but with you and I, 
 my sweet sister, it will hardly need these as remembrancers 
 of what we have been. Ha ! what is this ?" he added, as, 
 in overhauling his garments, a paper secured in the torn 
 lining caught his eye. "Good heavens ! is it possible?" he 
 continued, drawing it forth. " It is the lost check as I 
 live." 
 
 Great were the rejoicings of Edgar and his sister at this 
 discovery, for to them it seemed inexhaustible wealth. As 
 it was not yet past banking hours, Edgar hastened to Wall 
 street, and in a short time returned to Virginia with more 
 than a thousand dollars, in his possession. And then what 
 joy was in their hearts, as, with arms thrown fondly around 
 each other, they sat and talked over tkeir plans for the 
 morrow. 
 
 Alas ! poor oppressed orphans ! they little dream what 
 the morrow, or even the night, had in store for them. The 
 fowler had sprung his net, and they were already becoming 
 entangled in its meshes.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE PLOT THICKENS. 
 
 IT was an early hour in the morning of the day which 
 closes the preceding chapter, and in the same apartment 
 where we first introduced them to the reader, sat Oliver 
 Atherton and Nathan Wesley. The former was in fine 
 spirits, if one might judge from the manner he rubhed to- 
 gether his hands, and the gleam of fiendish delight which 
 over-spread his countenance. 
 
 "And so," he said, turning to his attorney, "he is 
 caught at last ?" 
 
 "At last," dryly responded Wesley. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! this does my soul good. Now he shall feel 
 what it is to beard me. Now he shall know what it is to 
 fall into the clutches of the tiger he has goaded to madness. 
 Hypocrite, indeed ! Thanks to fortune, my hypocrisy is 
 of a useful kind, for by it I can triumph over my enemies, 
 and crush them that lie in my path. Ay, and crush them 
 I will !" he cried, with a hellish gleam of malice darkening 
 his features. " And him above all others will I crush ! 
 
 Yes, by !" he fairly shouted, uttering a blasphemous 
 
 oath, " I will extinguish the race ! and then, and not till 
 then, will I deem myself safe." 
 
 " And will you then ?" quietly asked the attorney. 
 
 "Will I then?" repeated Atherton in surprise. "Will 
 I then ? Certainly why not ? what do you mean ?" 
 
 " 0, nothing merely asked the question." 
 
 (151)
 
 152 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " 'Tis false ! I know you well you never speak with- 
 out a meaning. Do you think to betray me ?" 
 
 " I !" replied the other in pretended astonishment. "I 
 betray you ? betray my master ? (this last wa.s said with 
 sarcastic emphasis) how can you think of such a thing ? 
 Besides, supposing I did ? Your gold, you know, would 
 save you." 
 
 " Ha !" cried Atherton, with a start, remembering his 
 words to- the other at their last conference : " Beware, 
 Wesley beware ! I am not one to be trifled with. I have 
 already been warned of you: so beware! Even so much 
 as attempt to turn traitor, and, by heavens, I will not wait 
 
 the slow process of the law ! No by ! with my own 
 
 hands will I let out your heart's blood !" 
 
 " And get hung for your trouble," quietly returned the 
 other. 
 
 "No, I thank you, good Mr. Wesley I will make my 
 gold save me," sarcastically rejoined the millionaire; and 
 then hastily added : " But come, a truce to this. It is all 
 important that you and I should be friends, Wesley." 
 
 "All important," said the attorney, dryly. 
 
 "You must assist me in this affair, Wesley, and swear 
 point blank to whatever I dictate." 
 
 " And so perjure myself." 
 
 "Well what of that? You have already done darker 
 deeds, you know." 
 
 _ "Now stop !" cried Wesley, with a terrible gleam in his 
 small black eyes. " No more of that ! What I did was 
 for self-defence ; but you mustn't throw it in my teeth 
 again ! It was a bad job, and I've never had an easy con- 
 science since." 
 
 "Well, well, let it pass, Wesley. You did well and 
 for doing well got gold and gold, as they say of charity, 
 will cover a multitude of sins. You have done well now
 
 THE PLOT THICKENS. 153 
 
 only finish your good work. Away, good Wesley, and take 
 this warrant for his apprehension. He must be caught 
 and caged to-night. Away, now set the hounds of the 
 law upon him and drag him forth, though he be kneeling 
 at the altar of Christ ! Once convicted, friend Wesley, and 
 it shall be the best day's work you ever performed. Make 
 all safe, and then let me know;" and as Atherton con- 
 cluded, the attorney rose, bowed, and took his leave. 
 
 For a few minutes after being left to himself the schem- 
 ing hypocrite paced the room and rubbed his hands with 
 delight ; and then muttering, " Now then for my visitor be- 
 low," he quitted the apartment. 
 
 Mean time Wesley, instead of leaving the mansion at 
 once, ascended a flight of stairs, and carefully opening 
 a door on his right, entered another elegant apartment, 
 where stood a young man before his mirror, carefully ar- 
 ranging his toilet. As the attorney closed the door, he 
 looked round carelessly, and disclosed the features of 
 Acton Atherton. 
 
 " 0, it is you, eh ?" he said yawning. " Well, Wes, what 
 deviltry is afoot now, eh?" 
 
 " Your own," answered the other. 
 
 " Speak it out, man!" 
 
 " You want to get that girl in your power ?" ~ 
 
 " Yes, yes !" said Acton, hastily, in a low tone, his eyes 
 brightening with interest. 
 
 "I can put you in a way." 
 
 "How? quick! tell me!" 
 
 " And if you succeed ?" 
 
 " The fifty dollars I promised are yours." 
 
 "Do you know who she is?" 
 
 " No, and care less, so I once have her in my power, 
 and no particular friend by as before." 
 
 " Then come with me." 
 
 13*
 
 154 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " But how will you arrange it ?" 
 
 " It's fixed already. Come with me and I'll show you." 
 
 " In a moment ; " and completing his toilet in haste, 
 Acton and Wesley quitted the mansion together, both bent 
 on the devil's mission. 
 
 While these things were transpiring above stairs, Cla- 
 rence Malcolm, of whom mention has frequently been 
 made, and Arabella Atherton were sitting tete-a-tete in the 
 magnificent parlor below. The former was a fine, noble 
 leoking young man, of commanding appearance, who 
 seemed, by his erect carriage and lofty demeanor, to feel 
 himself fully on an equality with the proud, haughty heiress 
 who sat by his side, a sort of queenly, breathing statue, 
 so cold and inflexible she appeared. In fact it was appa- 
 rent from her present manner, that she either cared noth- 
 ing for her guest, or that she had taken offence at some- 
 thing in the conversation preceding our introduction of the 
 parties. 
 
 But whatever the cause of her hauteur, Clarence was 
 evidently desirous of removing it ; for after two or three 
 ineffectual attempts to draw her into conversation, he said : 
 
 " If I have offended you in any way, Miss Atherton, it 
 nas been done unwittingly, and I crave pardon !" 
 
 " Of course you have it," she answered coldly. 
 
 "Thank you!" he rejoined, with slight sarcasm in his 
 tone. " It is something to know one is forgiven, albeit 
 one never- learns wherein one has offended." 
 
 To this Arabella deigned no reply ; and after a rather 
 embarrassing silence of a few moments, the other said, 
 abruptly fixing his eyes steadily upon the haughty beauty : 
 
 " You have cousins in town, Miss Atherton ?" 
 
 Arabella started, and her features flashed as she replied: 
 
 "Not that I am aware of, sir." 
 
 "Indeed ! that is very strange !"
 
 THE PLOT THICKENS. 155 
 
 "Is it?" dryly responded the other. "And suppose I 
 have cousins in town, is there any thing so very remarka- 
 ble in the fact ?" 
 
 "No, certainly not, Miss Atherton. Your having 
 cousins in town is not remarkable. It is that you should 
 know nothing of them, and, while living in luxury yourself, 
 they should be literally starving." 
 
 " What mean you ?" demanded the other, haughtily. 
 
 " What I say, Miss Atherton," replied Clarence, in the 
 same haughty vein. " I never speak with a double mean- 
 ing." 
 
 " Indeed !" rejoined Arabella, biting her lips with vex- 
 ation. " Well, sir, you will be good enough to be more 
 explicit, or let the subject drop, for I do not comprehend 
 the drift of your conversation." 
 
 " A single question, then ?" 
 
 " Well, sir ?" 
 
 " Had your father a sister ?" 
 
 Arabella's face flushed as she replied : 
 
 " I have so understood I never saw her." 
 
 " She married a Courtly ?" 
 
 Arabella nodded haughtily. 
 
 " And had two children ?" continued Clarence. 
 
 " So I have heard." 
 
 " The father was lost at sea ?" 
 
 "Even so." 
 
 " Your father became possessor of his property ?" 
 
 " Sir," rejoined Arabella, indignantly, rising proudly 
 from her seat, " you are now touching upon family affairs, 
 with which you and no other stranger has any business." 
 
 "Nay," said Clarence, gravely, "I am not exactly a 
 stranger, Miss Arabella, and am not yet convinced I have 
 no right to question as I do."
 
 156 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " Then question those who will answer you," she said, 
 scornfully, preparing to leave the apartment. 
 
 " Stay !" said Clarence, rising and gently touching her 
 on the arm. " I do not wish to give offence, Miss Atherton 
 nor do I ask these questions idly. They are perhaps 
 all important to you, to me, and to others. Sit down I 
 pray you ! I will not detain you long.". 
 
 Arabella hesitated, but finally resumed her seat. 
 
 " Your father, I say, became possessed, by will, of his 
 brother-in-law's property; and a vast possession it was, 
 which he still holds ; but his sister, after spending the little 
 bequeathed to herself, removed with her children to this 
 city, and here died of starvation and a broken heart." 
 
 " Sir !" cried Arabella, turning pale : " Mr. Malcolm ! 
 do you say this to insult me ?" 
 
 " No, Miss Atherton ; I pride myself on being a gentle- 
 man, and no gentleman will insult a lady ; . nevertheless I 
 must tell you the truth." 
 
 " How know you this ?" 
 
 " That, begging your pardon, is a secret I must withhold. 
 Let it suffice, that my information comes from a worthy 
 source." 
 
 " You speak in riddles to me, Mr. Malcolm : I cannot 
 comprehend your object. If I have relatives in town, so 
 poor as you say, they should have applied to my father 
 and been relieved. I trust you do not hold me answerable 
 for their neglect in making their condition known ?" 
 
 " But they did make their condition known to your 
 father, and were refused assistance, even so much as would 
 drive starvation from their door." 
 
 " Hold !" cried Arabella, springing to her feet, her 
 proud bosom heaving with angry passions, and her dark 
 eyes flashing defiance : " I will bear this insolence no 
 longer ! You, Clarence Malcolm, are the first that has
 
 THE PLOT THICKENS. 157 
 
 ever so dared to insult me, and I hate you for it. Ay, 
 were you to become an emperor and sue at my feet, I 
 would remember what you have this night uttered, and 
 spurn you from me. You have said that my father refused 
 assistance to his poor relations, knowing them to be desti- 
 tute." 
 
 "I repeat it," rejoined Clarence, firmly, also rising and 
 confronting his angry hostess. " Yes, Miss Atherton, I 
 repeat it ; for I have it from a source entitled to all confi- 
 dence no less than from the parties themselves. But 
 stay understand me I do not accuse you. A thousand 
 things may transpire, even in your own mansion, of which 
 you may be ignorant ; and from your manner and conver- 
 sation, I sincerely believe you knew nothing of your 
 cousins ; and that had you known their condition, your 
 own private purse would have generously relieved them. 
 So much I will say ; but that your father was not ignorant, 
 and that he did refuse them the means to live until his 
 sister was in a dying state, I do boldly assert." 
 
 If Arabella could have withered and annihilated Cla- 
 rence Malcolm with a glance, the glance of hate and scorn 
 she bestowed upon him, as he concluded, would have done 
 so. For a few moments her excited passions would not 
 allow her to answer ; and she stood before him with heav- 
 ing breast, expanded nostrils, and flashing eyes. At 
 length, with all the haughty scorn she could throw into her 
 words, she rejoined : 
 
 " Mr. Malcolm, allow me to give you due credit for 
 having once to-night spoken the truth ; and that when you 
 said, had I known the condition of my kins-people, I would 
 have relieved them. But what you say of my father, beg- 
 ging your pardon for the unlady-like expression, is false ! 
 No man, sir, is more benevolent than my father ; and that 
 he has given large sums to benevolent societies, and to the
 
 158 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 poor, you, sir, know as well as I ; and therefore, I again 
 repeat, what you have said is false a base, wilful, malig- 
 nant slander ! Henceforth, sir, we are strangers ; and as 
 I hear my father's step, perhaps you will have the auda- 
 city to re-speak your slanderous language to his face." 
 
 Saying this, Arabella walked proudly to the door, where 
 she was met by Atherton, just come down from his inter- 
 view with Wesley to join her, and if possible, further his 
 scheme of effecting a union between herself and Clarence. 
 
 "Eh ! my daughter what is this? what is this?" he 
 said, hastily, making an effort to detain her, and glancing 
 at Malcolm as if for an explanation, who stood proudly 
 drawn up to his full height, where Arabella had left him, 
 calmly watching her motions. 
 
 " Question him !" replied Arabella, with a gesture of 
 displeasure toward Clarence ; and stepping proudly aside, 
 she passed her father and disappeared. 
 
 " Ah, my dear Malcolm," continued the hypocrite, 
 closing the door and approaching the other with hand 
 extended, "I am delighted to see you. How is your 
 health this evening, and that of your good mother?" 
 
 " We are well," answered Clarence, coldly, barely taking 
 the hand of the millionaire, and letting it fall without 
 pressure. 
 
 "Ah, yes glad to hear it," said the other, affecting 
 not to notice his cool reception. " So you have had a 
 little love quarrel, eh ? you and Arabella. you lovers ! 
 always fighting and making up again, Well, well 
 just so with my wife and myself before we were joined in 
 holy wedlock. Ah me !" he sighed, affecting to weep : 
 " Poor Fanny ! she is gone to her long home now. Well, 
 Buch things must be, you know, in this ever changing 
 world of sin and death ; and we should not repine, but, 
 like true Christians, be resigned to the will of our Maker."
 
 THE PLOT THICKENS. 159 
 
 "A truly pious sentiment, Mr. Atherton," dryly re- 
 sponded Clarence, eyeing the other closely. 
 
 " There is nothing like a Christian's hope in such hours 
 of affliction," meekly rejoined the dissembler, with a sanc- 
 timonious face befitting a godly priest. " When my dear 
 wife Fanny died, a year ago, I thought my heart would 
 break ; but I looked to Him for support in my trying hour, 
 and not in vain ; for he filled my soul with the hope of an 
 eternal meeting beyond the grave. But I beg pardon, 
 friend Clarence ! I am keeping you standing. Come, let 
 us be seated, and have a little private conversation." 
 
 "With all my heart," said Clarence; "for there is a 
 matter of some little moment I wish to touch upon." 
 
 " 0, yes exactly I understand," returned Atherton, 
 with what he intended should be thought a knowing smile. 
 " Well, to come to the point at once and that is what all 
 lovers desire, though most of them are backward enough 
 in doing it themselves I must say that, though a little 
 petulant and proud at times, Arabella is a dear, sweet 
 girl ; with whom I am extremely loth to part , but then, 
 when I consider that she is to be united to one so highly 
 esteemed as yourself " 
 
 " Sir," interrupted Malcolm, with crimson features, 
 "you mistake. My desired conversation has no reference 
 to your daughter." 
 
 " Ah, indeed !" said the worldly man, seeming to be 
 abstracted, though his cold blue eye was seeking the while 
 to penetrate the very soul of his guest. " Indeed, my 
 young friend, I exceedingly regret that two persons of 
 such good sense as you and Arabella possess, should let a 
 trifling love-quarrel so interfere with your desires." 
 
 "Again you mistake," rejoined Clarence, sternly. "We 
 have had no love- quarrel, as you term it."
 
 ICO THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " No ? Then I was mistaken in supposing you offended 
 with each other?" 
 
 " No, Mr. Atherton, in that you were not mistaken." 
 
 " Hum ! hum ! Well, you lovers are mysterious." 
 
 " Nay, sir, be so good as to understand me, once for all, 
 that we are not lovers!" said Clarence, indignant at the 
 other's perverse assumption of what he knew was false. 
 
 " Not lovers ? and you visiting her regularly ? Poh ! 
 poh ! don't tell me that !" 
 
 " True, I have visited her somewhat regularly of late, 
 and may have had some serious intentions in so doing 
 but they are past now, and this is my last visit." 
 
 "Indeed!" returned Atherton, seriously; "you surprise 
 me ! Is not my daughter good enough for you ?" 
 
 " Too good, perhaps at least she would have me think 
 so but that is neither here nor there." 
 
 " Pray tell me the reason of your quarrel ? for quar- 
 reled you have, I see." 
 
 " I will at least as far as I know. What she first took 
 offence at, she better knows than I for I had said nothing 
 that I am aware of to give her cause but the last matter 
 in discussion, and at which she most took fire, was regard- 
 ing her cousins and yourself." 
 
 As he said this, Clarence fixed his eyes upon Atherton, 
 and witnessed a most rapid and fearful change, which con- 
 vinced him he was right in the course he was pursuing. A 
 deadly pallor overspread his countenance, his brow dark- 
 ened, his lips compressed, and a cold, sullen gleam shot 
 from his blue eyes. For a moment he gazed sternly upon 
 his guest, without speaking, and then said, with assumed 
 composure : 
 
 " Well, sir, what of her cousins ?' 
 
 " Why, in the course of conversation, I remarked that
 
 THE PLOT THICKENS. 161 
 
 it was singular she should be living in splendor, while 
 they were starving in the same city." 
 
 The millionaire started, and his face grew darker more 
 devilish so much so, that Clarence gazed upon him in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Well sir ?" he said. 
 
 "Your daughter denied all knowledge of the fact," pur- 
 sued Clarence, quietly, still eyeing the other closely, " and 
 said if such were the case, they should have made known 
 their condition to you and been relieved. I replied that 
 they had done so, and been refused assistance." 
 
 " 'Tis false!" cried Atherton, springing up in rage, 
 completely thrown off his guard. " 'Tis false, I say false 
 as hell ! I gave Edgar Courtly a check for a thousand 
 dollars." 
 
 " But not until his mother, your sister, was dying. 
 
 " How know you that, sir?" 
 
 " That is my secret." 
 
 " And even if she was dying, what is that to you ?" 
 
 " Every thing since their cause has now become mine." 
 
 " Indeed ! and what do you intend to tlo?" 
 
 " Set the wronged right, and make villainy tremble." 
 
 " Is it possible ? I trust you will have a pleasant time 
 of it !" 
 
 " If I succeed, I doubt not I shall." 
 
 " Take my advice, young man go home, and meddle 
 no more with what does not concern you!" 
 
 "But this does concern me, I say; and since you 
 are free to give advice, Mr. Atherton, take a little of mine, 
 and be cautious what you do hereafter ; for every action 
 will be watched every motive closely scanned." 
 
 " Then I am to have spies upon me, am I?" 
 
 " And have no more than you deserve, since your former 
 deeds are becoming known." 
 14
 
 102 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " Ha ! what do you know ?" quickly interrogated the other 
 turning very pale. 
 
 " Time will show, sir, what I know. Again I say, be 
 cautious !" 
 
 " Some villainous report of that cursed nephew of mine. 
 By ! I will have him hung !" 
 
 "Is this your Christian piety?" queried Clarence. 
 " So, so the mask is off sooner than I anticipated; and I 
 now behold you what you have been represented a base 
 hypocrite!" 
 
 " Leave my house, sir !" cried Atherton, stamping his 
 foot violently, completely beside himself with rage. 
 
 "I do so with pleasure," returned Malcolm, calmly, 
 rising from his seat ; " and promise you, moreover, I will 
 never again darken your door. And furthermore, I now 
 tell you to your teeth, I am henceforth your determined 
 foe, and will spare no pains to expose your hypocrisy at 
 any and all times and places ; and if I can prove you have 
 gained your property wrongfully taken it unlawfully 
 from the widow and orphan I solemnly swear to devote 
 time, energy and money, to the last cent I have if neces- 
 sary, to bring you to the punishment you so richly merit. 
 There are so many hypocrites in the world so many 
 wolves in sheep's clothing that it is not only an act of 
 justice, but a righteous act, to expose and punish all we 
 can." 
 
 It is impossible to portray the appearance of Atherton as 
 he heard these words. His usually serene features became 
 almost haggard with fear and rage, his eyes glared wildly, 
 and there was a foam and lividness about the lips, such as 
 madmen sometimes exhibit. As Clarence ceased, he 
 clenched his hand and took a step forward as if to strike 
 him. Then pausing irresolute, he turned, and casting
 
 THE PLOT THICKENS. 163 
 
 himself upon a seat, buried his face in his hands and 
 groaned. 
 
 Gazing sternly upon him for a moment, Clarence turned 
 upon his heel and left him to his own bitter reflections. 
 
 For the space of ten minutes the schemer rocked to and 
 fro, like one in agony, and then started up suddenly. 
 
 " Fool ! fool !" he exclaimed ; " a cursed fool I am ! 
 
 Foiled again by ! Why did I admit that matter of 
 
 the check ? But lie at least shall not escape me ! No, 
 sooner than that, I will bribe a dozen witnesses to swear 
 him to eternal perdition;" and with these dark words upon 
 his lips, Oliver Atherton quitted the apartment to plot new 
 schemes of hell.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE ARREST. 
 
 IT was about nine o'clock in the evening, that Edgar and 
 Virginia sat together before a cheerful fire, recalling the 
 events of the day. There was an air of gladness on the 
 features of each, mingled with a slight shade of gloom, like 
 the first breaking forth of the sun upon a late stormy land- 
 scape, which made them appear very interesting. The 
 dark habiliments of mourning now worn by each, contrasting 
 with their pale, expressive features, gave them a sort of 
 classic interest, if we may be permitted the phrase, over 
 which an artist would have lingered with delight. 
 
 " And what is he to do with your poems, dear Edgar ?" 
 asked Virginia, with her beautiful hand resting gracefully 
 on his shoulder, and her soft blue eyes looking tenderly and 
 earnestly into his, while around the half parted lips lingered 
 a sweet though rather melancholy smile, as if the sorrow 
 of the past and the joy of the present were commingling in 
 her soul. 
 
 " Indeed, sweet sister, I do not know," replied Edgar, 
 turning to her his manly, noble countenance, and imprinting 
 on her lips a kiss of fraternal love. " As I told you before, 
 he spoke something of a magazine and newspaper, and of 
 giving me the charge of either; but I more than half 
 suspect he made the poetry an excuse to put in my posses- 
 sion the money I had refused as a loan. Generous soul ! 
 how noble in him to do this ! and what a contrast he forms 
 to our selfish, avaricious, hypocritical uncle, who, though 
 (164)
 
 THE ARREST. 165 
 
 he gave me something at last, did it as he feared to do 
 otherwise fancying, methought, I had a clue to some dark 
 secret, that, if known, would be his undoing. And this, 
 by the way, reminds me I must not fail to call on Davis to- 
 . morrow. Perchance he may be in a condition to explain 
 his mysterious words. But ah ! why do I think of man's 
 baseness now, at a time when my heart is made glad by 
 the nobleness of disinterested friendship and generous 
 gratitude ! No, banished be all from my thoughts ! I 
 will think of an angel I this day for the first time beheld." 
 
 " Of Edith Morton," quoth Virginia, with an arch 
 smile. 
 
 " Of one dear Virginia, you shall love as a sister. 0, 
 that to-morrow were come, that you might behold her !" 
 
 Virginia sighed. 
 
 "I, too," she said, pretending to search for something 
 at her feet, "will think of " 
 
 " Dudley," added Edgar, as she paused. "Ay, think 
 of him, sister, for he is worthy of your thoughts." 
 
 " Nay, I said not him, Edgar," cried Virginia, quickly, 
 now showing a face deeply flushed possibly caused by 
 bending forward possibly by the fire or, possibly by 
 what you will, reader. 
 
 " Hark !" exclaimed Edgar, suddenly ; " there are heavy 
 steps on the stairs, and rough voices without. What can 
 be the meaning?" 
 
 Virginia drew close to him in alarm. The next moment 
 there came a heavy double-knock on the door, as if struck 
 with a club, and a voice without said hoarsely : 
 
 " Guard the windows, and see he don't escape by t'other 
 door !" 
 
 " Who are you, and what is wanted ?" demanded Edgar, 
 rising and taking a step forward, while Virginia clung 
 tremblingly to him. 
 
 14*
 
 166 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " Open, in the name of the commonwealth ! I'm an 
 officer of the police." 
 
 "No, no do not!" cried Virginia, intercepting her 
 brother as he was about to comply with the demand. 
 " This is some plot to murder you." 
 
 " Be firm, Virginia, and reach me yonder knife," 
 said Edgar, in a low tone, with deathly pale features and 
 compressed lips. " Should they prove to be impostors, it 
 shall go hard with some of them. Quick, the knife ! and 
 then retire into the other apartment." 
 
 " Open, or I'll split down your door !" said the voice 
 without. 
 
 "Do so, and you are a dead man!" returned Edgar. 
 " Quick, Virginia ! There, now hasten into the other 
 apartment." 
 
 " But, Edgar, dear," began Virginia, in trembling tones. 
 
 "Nay, away, before violence is done!" interrupted her 
 brother. "Fly, and close the door! "and as Virginia 
 complied with his entreaty, he turned the key in the door 
 and threw it open. 
 
 Two figures at once advanced into the apartment one 
 the villainous person of Wesley, and the other a stout, 
 coarse-featured, red-faced individual, partly muffled in a 
 rough over-coat, who carried in one hand a paper, and in 
 the other a heavy hickory club. 
 
 " That's him," nodded Wesley toward Edgar. 
 
 " Edgar Courtly," said the other advancing, and placing 
 his brawny hand on his shoulder, "you're my prisoner." 
 
 " For what ?" demanded Edgar, calmly, while Virginia, 
 uttering a wild shriek, came bounding forward. 
 
 " For forgery," gruffly replied the officer. 
 
 " Great Heaven ! I arrested for forgery !' You must be 
 mocking me !" 
 
 " There's the document ; and if you think there's any
 
 THE ARREST. 167 
 
 mockery in that, why you're welcome to think so, that's 
 all," replied the constable, showing Edgar the writ for his 
 apprehension. 
 
 " 'Tis even so," said Edgar, clasping the almost fainting 
 Virginia to his beating heart. " Great God ! are we never 
 to know the end of our misery ! Must one affliction tread 
 upon another till they crush us into our graves ! Oh, God 
 of the orphans !" he cried, wildly, clasping his hands arid 
 looking upwards, " bid death be speedy and summon us to 
 a better world !" Then turning fiercely to the ofiicer, he 
 continued: "Who hath done this, sir? who dares accuse 
 me of the crime you have named ? In the presence of my 
 Maker,, sir, I swear I am innocent !" 
 
 " Yes, yes," screamed Virginia, wildly, " he is innocent 
 he never did any wrong and you shall not tear him from 
 me ! Go ! go ! you shall not take him !" 
 
 " Come, come, pretty Miss, it's no use to whine," 
 returned the officer ; " because, you see, now, I've got to 
 do my duty whether or no. I've no doubt the young man'll 
 be able to prove his innocence but with that I've nothing 
 to do. There's my paper, which says arrest Edgar Courtly, 
 and I've got to do it. So, (to Edgar) come along ! for it's 
 time we's a moving." 
 
 " I see it all !" exclaimed Edgar, as a thought flashed 
 through his brain. " It is a damnable plot of my uncle to 
 put me out of his way : but I will triumph yet, and then 
 let him beware ! Cheer up, Virginia ! I have friends, and 
 shall not long be kept in durance ; and then let them that 
 have done this beware ! Cheer up, sweet sister stay here 
 to-night and early in the morning hasten to Calvin Morton 
 and tell him all. Farewell 1" 
 
 " No, no !" screamed Virginia, clinging tightly to him ; 
 "you shall not go! I will not let you go they will
 
 168 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 murder you ! Oh God ! oh God ! to come to this ! You 
 shall not go !" 
 
 " Nay, dearest Virginia," said Edgar, in an agony of 
 mind better conceived than described, pressing his lips to 
 hers, and straining her to his heart in a fond embrace, " I 
 must go ; the officer is waiting ; you must not detain me !" 
 
 " Then I will go with you they shall imprison us 
 both we will not part !" 
 
 " That cannot be," spoke up Wesley. " The rules of 
 the prison wont allow it. Better stay where you are, lady, 
 and I'll bring you any information you desire. Although 
 I'm here with the police officer, yet I'm your brother's 
 friend, and will do all in my power to render this disa- 
 greeable business bearable. You spoke of Calvin Morton, 
 the lawyer; do you know him, Mr. Courtly?" 
 
 "Thank Heaven, I do!" replied Edgar. "I did him 
 some service, for which he is grateful, and will stand my 
 friend. Oh, sir, if you are friendly toward us, as you say, 
 will you not hasten to him at once, and tell him the con- 
 dition in which we both are placed? It is the greatest 
 favor I can ask of you at present, and you shall have gold 
 for your trouble." 
 
 " I'll do it," said Wesley, with a singular gleam in his 
 small, black eyes " that is, if you persuade your sister to 
 remain, so that if they send after her, as I know they will, 
 she can surely be found." 
 
 " Do you hear Virginia ? Now, sweet sister, stay where 
 you are till this gentleman returns, or sends some one to 
 take you among friends ; and in this way you will both 
 hasten my release and relieve my mind." 
 
 "Then farewell, brother!" cried Virginia, throwing her 
 arms around his neck and bursting into tears. " Farewell, 
 Edgar ! I I will do as you say. God bless you ! adieu !" 
 and as if fearful to longer test her resolution by remaining,
 
 THE ARREST. 169 
 
 she sprung away from him and into the adjoining apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " Lead on !" said Edgar to the officer ; and with a firm 
 step, but with a deathly, sickening sensation at heart, he 
 left the house, accompanied by Wesley and the constable. 
 
 As the party reached the foot of the stairs, two figures 
 approached them, and a voice said : 
 
 " Why, Gus, I'd begun to think you wasn't a-coming. 
 What in thunder kept you so long?" 
 
 " Why, the chap's got a sister up there," answered the 
 other, " and she, woman like, wouldn't let him go till she'd 
 cried a few that's all." 
 
 "Well, I 'spose we can push ahead now;" and the 
 speaker came along side of Edgar, while the fourth per- 
 sonage drew aside and was joined by Wesley. 
 
 As Edgar now moved away between the two officers, he 
 noted, with considerable misgiving, that the other two per- 
 sons loitered about the premises, conversed in low tones, 
 and occasionally pointed toward the apartments of his sister. 
 
 Could it be possible, he mused, that they meditated 
 treachery ! And then, like lightning, the remembrance 
 came over him, of how strenuously Wesley had been in 
 urging his sister to remain. Perhaps this was some devilish 
 plot to remove him and get her in their possession ! and he 
 felt his blood run chill and his brain reel at the thought. 
 
 Halting abruptly and looking back, he said to the offi- 
 cers: 
 
 " Before I go with you to prison, I must return to my 
 sister : I have something important to tell her." 
 
 " Can't do it," replied one, gruffly, placing his hand 
 heavily on Edgar's shoulder. " You've kept us bothering 
 too long already, and must come now whether or no." 
 
 As the other spoke, Edgar saw the two figures slowly 
 depart in an opposite direction, and watching them dis-
 
 170 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 
 
 appear, he strove to banish from his mind all suspicion of 
 wrong ; and turning, signified his readiness to proceed. 
 
 With a heavy step and heavier heart, Edgar moved 
 through the streets, bitterly reflecting upon his hard destiny, 
 in having the only cup of happiness he had possessed for 
 years, dashed suddenly from his lips at the very moment 
 his wearied and thirsty soul was about to take a refreshing 
 draught. And what could be the meaning of the accu- 
 sation for which he was now held a prisoner ! He strove 
 to recollect what he had done, to bring himself even under 
 the curse of suspicion ; but for a long time he puzzled his 
 brain without success, when suddenly the truth flashed 
 upon him with almost overwhelming force. His uncle his 
 base, inhuman uncle was at the bottom of it ! Yes, this 
 was the cause of that liberality which had so surprised 
 him this the cause of that gleam of triumph which he had 
 marked at the time, but without a suspicion of what it 
 imported. And to what extent had he power to carry his 
 villainy ? He would of course attempt to prove the check 
 he had given him a forged one. But would he succeed ? 
 Doubtless he already had witnesses bribed to swear falsely ; 
 but notwithstanding, Edgar knew himself innocent, and 
 could not but believe that all would turn out right in the 
 end, and that the black-hearted baseness of his uncle would 
 recoil upon himself and his tools with overwhelming force. 
 
 As he came in sight of the Egyptian Tombs, rearing its 
 massive walls high in the starlight air, and standing out 
 vague, and dim and gloomy from its murky background, 
 the same cold, sickening shudder he had twice before expe- 
 rienced, passed over his frame, and he knew it now a strange 
 omen of evil. And what singular feelings were his, as, 
 ascending the steps, he walked over the very spot whither 
 he had borne the lovely Edith, then an unknown female 
 just rescued from peril, But now an object in his eyes of no
 
 THE ARREST. 171 
 
 little interest ! And with what peculiar emotions he 
 recalled the plans he had laid for the morrow, in each of 
 which she had formed a part, only to know them all swept 
 away by the strong hand of destiny, and himself a prisoner, 
 on his way to the dungeon of the criminal ! And with 
 what a sinking heart, a sense of loathing and utter desola- 
 tion, he entered the cheerless, noisome cell apportioned 
 him, and heard the harsh grating of the iron door as it 
 swung to on its rusty hinges, shutting him from light, and 
 air, and seemingly from the world forever ! And lastly, 
 when all were gone and all was silent, save the dull sound 
 of his feet, as to and fro he paced the rocky floor of his 
 present narrow abode, what a whirlwind of thought, what 
 a chaos of ideas, crowded his feverish brain, straining it to 
 the verge of madness, and making his very soul seem like 
 a thing of flesh and blood filled with barbed irons dipped 
 in rankling poison ! 
 
 But with all his misery his mental anguish Edgar 
 had an easy conscience ; and with this we leave him ; while 
 we return to those who were even now taking the prelim- 
 inary steps to a fearful retribution.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE PLOT AND THE TRAITOB. 
 
 "I TELL you, Acton," said Wesley to his companion, as 
 they stood before the lodgings of Edgar and Virginia, " it's 
 no use to think of venturing there now, for she'll know it's 
 some trick to deceive her ; so come away, leave all to me, 
 and I'll make my plan succeed." 
 
 " Why, Wesley, you see we are here now, and the bird 
 is caught." 
 
 " But surely, Acton Atherton, you're not fool enough to 
 attempt force with a woman, when stratagem will succeed 
 better. If she should scream, we'd have the whole town 
 upon us." . :r ,, 
 
 " 0, I would only attempt the gentlest persuasion." 
 
 " Pshaw ! what would your persuasion do with her ! And 
 see," continued Wesley, pointing toward Edgar, " that 
 young scape-grace has stopped. He likely suspects some- 
 thing ; and if we stand here much longer, we'll have him 
 back upon us. Come ! we must leave, if only for policy's 
 sake." 
 
 Acton grumblingly consented, and the two worthies 
 moved away together. Entering the Bowery, they shaped 
 their course to one of the many, groggeries surrounding the 
 theater; and passing through the bar-room into a more 
 private apartment, called for a couple of bottles of wine, 
 over which in low tones, they discussed the matter upper- 
 most in their minds. 
 
 "But, Wesley, how will you manage it?" asked Acton. 
 (172)
 
 THE PLOT AND THE TRAITOR. 173 
 
 " As I said before, leave that to me and you'll see. But 
 I say, where'll you take her to, Acton ? have you got that 
 fixed ?" 
 
 " Why, not exactly : I must take her where I'm ac- 
 quainted, for there might be trouble with strangers. Ha ! 
 by Jove, I will do it !" he added, with flashing eyes, strik- 
 ing his fist on the table with a force that made the bottles 
 and tumblers ring again. " Yes, she shall go there," he 
 continued, rather to himself than his companion. " She 
 has dared to threaten me to my teeth and cast me off, and 
 I will show her that I can console myself with the society 
 of one more beautiful still. And then, peradventure, she'll 
 get in a passion and do some rash act for of course she'll 
 be jealous of her rival. Well, so much the better ; for if 
 she but break the law in one iota, I will have her dragged 
 to prison, where I'll manage to keep her uiftil my wedding 
 is over. Yes, by ! I'll do it !" 
 
 "And who is this person you're speaking of?" asked 
 Wesley, carelessly. 
 
 Acton gave a start of surprise. 
 
 " Well, that is my business," he answered, sharply, now 
 for the first time aware he had been thinking aloud. 
 " You do your part, sir, and leave mine to me." 
 
 Wesley made no reply ; but there was a peculiar cun- 
 ning expression on his ugly features, and a malicious 
 gleam in his small, black eyes, as stealthily he watched the 
 countenance of the other. Then he said, in a careless 
 tone : 
 
 " By-the-by, Master Acton, have you that fifty handy ?" 
 
 "Insolent dog !" returned the other, angrily ; " do you 
 want your pay before you do your work ? Don't intrude 
 mercenary affairs upon me, when you see I am busy with 
 weighty matters." 
 
 u So, so," grumbled Wesley to himself *he calls me . ! 
 15
 
 174 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 an insolent dog, eh ! and his father will make his money 
 save him, eh ! ho, my good masters we shall see we 
 shall see." 
 
 " What do you think, Wes ?" said Acton, in a familiar, 
 patronising tone, intended perhaps to allay any harsh feel- 
 ings his previous language might have excited, and throw- 
 ing off as he spoke a tumbler of wine : " think the little 
 jade will he refractory, when she finds there is no backing 
 out of the matter, eh !" 
 
 " Hardly," answered Wesley. 
 
 " Sewing girls, you know," continued the other, on 
 whom the wine already began to take effect, " are not apt 
 to be troublesome at least I ha, ha I never found them 
 so. But then you know," he added, with assumed gravity, 
 stroking his chin complacently, " there is every thing in 
 the looks of the person eh ! Wesley ?" 
 
 " Every thing," rejoined the other, quietly, eyeing him 
 closely. 
 
 A few more turns at the bottle made Acton very loqua- 
 cious, and he began to talk of his own private plans with 
 .less and less reserve. Urging the liquor upon him, but 
 taking care to keep a cool brain himself, Wesley watched 
 " his opportunity ; and when he found the other in the right 
 mood to be communicative, said : 
 
 " Between friends, you know, Master Acton, there should 
 be no reserve !" 
 
 " That's a fact," hiccupped the other ; " that's a fact, 
 
 by ! What do you want to know, Wes ? Eh ! what 
 
 is it?" 
 
 "Know? 0, nothing in particular; only I was just 
 
 thinking how touchy you were about that little matter 
 
 -of the female." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! yes, I see. Ah, you're a sly dog, Wes, by 
 Jove, vou are I Well, now, I'll tell you for as you say,
 
 THE PLOT AND THE TRAITOR. 175 
 
 there should be- no reserve among friends, and we're friends 
 eh! Wesley?" 
 
 " We're friends," grinned the other. 
 
 " Well that, you see, was my wife. Stop, now that is, 
 you see, she would have been my wife ; but the priest or 
 minister that married us, didn't happen to be either a priest 
 or minister. You take, Wes, eh ? ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 " I take," quietly rejoined the other ; and then added, 
 carelessly, sipping his wine ; " A good joke a capital 
 joke. But, by-the-by, who is this female ? and where 
 does she live ?" 
 
 " 0, she ? why, her name's Ellen Douglas, and she lives 
 in Mott street." 
 
 " And so she's going to interfere in some wedding of 
 yours, eh?" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! yes ; and that's the richest joke of all. 
 Come, I'll tell 'you about it. You must know I have been 
 paying my addresses to the fair, and lovely, and angelic 
 
 Edith Morton, and But stop her health first, Wesley, 
 
 and then to proceed." 
 
 And having drank her health, as he termed it, with 
 drunken gravity, Acton proceeded to give the other a short 
 history of Ellen Douglas, and of the most important events 
 Which had occurred during their acquaintance, up to the time 
 when he was commanded from her presence, of all of which 
 the reader has a knowledge. And then he said, in conclu- 
 sion, with somewhat awakened energy : 
 
 " But she must not interfere in this affair of Edith ! No, 
 
 by ! she must not interfere there ! Is there not some 
 
 way to prevent it, Wesley?" and he gave his confederate 
 a peculiar look. 
 
 " Some way," nodded Wesley, catching the other's dark 
 meaning. 
 
 " Yes," pursued Acton, slowly, eyeing the other stead- 

 
 176 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 ily, " there is a way, and I may yet need your services. 
 If she attempt what she has threatened, I " 
 
 "May put her out of the way," chimed in Wesley, in a 
 low tone, as the other paused. 
 
 Acton started, his eyes gleamed darkly, and reaching 
 across the table, he seized Wesley's hand and shook it 
 heartily. 
 
 " You are a clever fellow," he said ; " you see things at 
 a glance that others might never see. By Jove ! I was 
 getting drunk just now but the thought of this affair has 
 made me sober again. .Come, as it is not far from here, by 
 Jove, I'll show you where Ellen lives, and on the way we 
 will talk over the matter." 
 
 No proposition, at the moment, could have suited Wesley 
 better ; for he had deep schemes of his own to concoct ; 
 and to know the abode of Ellen, was one of the most im- 
 portant steps towards their completion ; therefore he quickly 
 arose and signified his readiness to depart immediately. 
 Acton had more than once insulted him, but he had passed 
 it by, simply because he had seen no opportunity to revenge 
 himself compatible with his devilish nature. To-night he 
 had called him an insolent dog ; and now that he fancied 
 there was a chance for deep and lasting retaliation, he had 
 sworn in his heart to execute it. To what extent he suc- 
 ceeded will presently be seen. 
 
 By the time Acton and Wesley reached the abode of 
 Ellen, the former had become perfectly sober owing, 
 doubtless, to the weakness of the wine and the excited 
 state of his feelings and already began to regret having 
 made the other his confidant ; but it was too late now to 
 repent ; and so he determined, if possible, to profit by a 
 sorry mistake. 
 
 " That is the house," he said, pointing to the building 
 from the opposite side of the street.
 
 THE PLOT AND THE TRAITOR. 177 
 
 " And you design taking the girl there, eh ?" queried 
 Wesley. 
 
 " Why that was my intention but, by Jove, I hardly 
 know what to think of it. Ellen has a high temper, and 
 may prove troublesome." 
 
 "Pshaw! cannot you manage a woman?" sneered 
 Wesley. 
 
 "By ! it-shall be so!" cried the other, taking fire 
 
 at the thought. " I will take her there ; and when she is 
 fairly mine, I will set them face to face, and show the 
 haughty Ellen another triumph. I hate her for twice has 
 she made a coward of me and I would have her see that I 
 have regained the courage of a man, and dare urge her to 
 
 do her worst. If she attempt to harm me, by ! I'll 
 
 kill her on the spot, and get off by proving it self-defence 
 though I would rather avoid so bold a measure, for it 
 would of course make a talk, and reach the ears of Edith, 
 But better even that," he added, in the next breath, " than 
 have her go there in person ; for I could easily trump up 
 some story to screen myself, and money can buy all kinds 
 of evidence. Yes, it's settled I'll do it !" he concluded 
 abruptly. 
 
 "Eight," rejoined Wesley. "Now I'll tell you how to 
 proceed. You must go back to the place and reconnoiter 
 till I come with a Coach ; and then I'll manage, with your 
 assistance, to entice the girl into it, and give you further 
 instructions." 
 
 " Good !" said Acton, approvingly. " Be quick, Wesley, 
 and you shall find me on hand ;" and the two worthies 
 separated, going opposite directions. 
 
 Wesley managed, however, to keep his eye on Acton till 
 
 he had completely disappeared ; and then hastening to the 
 
 abode of Ellen, he requested to see her on business admit- 
 
 ing of no delay. He was kept some time in waiting, but 
 
 15*
 
 178 - THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 finally gained admission, and was conducted to her apart- 
 ment. Although a rather advanced hour, Ellen had not 
 yet retired, but was partly reclining on an elegant sofa, 
 guitar in hand, singing a plaintive song, the following 
 words of which sounded mournfully in the ears of Wesley, 
 as, full of astonishment and admiration, both of the apart- 
 ment and singer, he halted just within the door, gazed 
 around, and listened. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 "My hope, alas! is o'er, 
 
 My sun must set in gloom, 
 And for me, nevermore 
 
 All refreshing spring shall bloom 
 For my feet must pass before 
 
 To the dark and silent tomb. 
 
 "Shall we meet, mother, dear, 
 
 When the cord is cut in twain 
 Which doth bind my spirit here, 
 
 Where no sorrow is nor pain ? 
 say thou wilt be near, 
 
 And thy child shall live again !" 
 
 She ceased, and laying aside her instrument, arose and 
 advanced to "Wesley, who was still so much amazed at what 
 he saw as almost to forget his errand. Her pale features, 
 viewed by the soft light of the apartment, he fancied the 
 most beautiful he had ever beheld ; and he was already 
 pondering how to address her, when she relieved him by 
 Baying : 
 
 " Well, sir, I understand you wish to see me on impor- 
 tant business !" 
 
 " I I do," stammered Wesley. 
 
 " Say on, then for it must be important that calls you 
 here at this late hour. If you have much to say, perhaps 
 vre had better be seated."
 
 THE PLOT AND THE TRAITOR. 179 
 
 " Not not much to say," rejoined Wesley, in his bland- 
 est tone. " Madame Miss Ellen, I mean I hardly know 
 how to begin. I suppose you know Acton Atherton ?" 
 
 Ellen started, her eyes flashed, and her form towered 
 aloft, as she replied, haughtily : 
 
 " If you bring a message from him, sir, our conference 
 is ended." 
 
 " I bring no message from him, Miss Ellen but I've 
 come to speak of him. He's a villain !" 
 
 " How know you that ?" rejoined the other, quickly. 
 
 " Because I know him well, and have known him long, 
 and because it's of meditated villainy on his part I've come 
 to see you." 
 
 " Say on, sir !" 
 
 " He's about to bring a lady here, to this house, this 
 night, whom he will entice away by treachery." 
 
 " Indeed, sir ! and how know you this ?" inquired Ellen, 
 eagerly, changing color and breathing hard. 
 
 " Because he told me so himself or rather, because I 
 overheard him laying the plan." 
 
 "Bring her here! brave me to my face again !" mut- 
 tered Ellen, striving to keep down her excited passions : 
 " Let him let him if he dare !" And then to "Wesley : 
 " Well, sir, do you know this female ? and who is she ? and 
 why come you to me, when you should be doing her a service 
 by warning and defending her as becomes a man ?" 
 
 "I'll answer your questions as you've asked them," 
 replied Wesley. " This female I know she's poor but 
 virtuous and I come to you, that you may render her 
 a good service and get her honest thanks for it. She'll be 
 enticed away, thinking she is going to another place but 
 she'll be brought here, and the rest I'll leave to you. If you 
 want to revenge yourself on a black-hearted villain, now is 
 your chance -to do it by protecting her."
 
 180 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 "But jvhy do you think I desire revenge? Do you 
 know any thing of my history ?" 
 
 "If I ditl'nt," replied Wesley, "I'd never been here on 
 this errand. I know all, Miss Ellen and I know you've 
 been shamefully abused and wronged, by one who has 
 abused and wronged me! (and his eyes gleamed maliciously,) 
 for which I'll be revenged if it hangs me !" 
 
 " And so he has made a boast of my disgrace, has he ?" 
 rejoined E\len, in a low, deep tone, eyeing the other in- 
 tently. 
 
 " Yes, time and again, over his cups ; and he laughs at 
 your threats, and drinks toasts to your speedy passage to 
 another world." 
 
 For a few moments Ellen stood speechless, gazing upon 
 Wesley with an expression that seemed to freeze his blood, 
 and made him fearful for what he had said. Then she 
 slowly sunk upon an ottoman, bowed her face upon her 
 hands, and groaned as one suffering the extreme of bodily 
 pain. Wesley did not venture another remark, till again 
 looking up, with truly haggard features, she broke the 
 gloomy silence) by saying : 
 
 " And who is this new victim ? You have not yet told 
 me who she is." 
 
 " Why she's a poor orphan girl that came to this city 
 some time ago, with her mother and brother, expecting to 
 get money from a rich uncle here. But she and they were 
 disappointed, I believe, and the old woman took on and 
 died about it ; and she and her brother, as I understand, 
 have had a rather hard time to get along. Not more than 
 three hours ago, her brother was arrested for forgery and 
 of the peril she's in I've already told you." 
 
 " Her name ?" almost shrieked Ellen, springing up so 
 suddenly that Wesley involuntarily took a step backwards. 
 " Her name ?" she cried again, starting fonvard and sciz-
 
 THE PLOT AND THE TRAITOR. 181 
 
 ing the astonished attorney by the arm, who looked as if 
 he doubted her sanity. "Speak!" she continued vehe- 
 mently : " tell me the name of this girl !" 
 
 "Why, perhaps I should be " 
 
 "Nay, her name ? her name ?" interrupted Ellen, stamp- 
 ing her foot impatiently. " Is it Courtly ? Do you speak 
 of Edgar and Virginia Courtly ?" 
 
 " What ! you know them ?" rejoined Wesley, all amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " Ha ! it is so it is so !" cried Ellen, almost frantic with 
 passion. " The wre.tch ! the villain ! the monster ! and 
 he dares assail her virtue his own flesh and blood, as it 
 were ! Ham like, he should be cursed to all posterity, 
 and die the death of a brute unwept, unpitied, and 
 unremembered, save with loathing ! 0, I could tear him 
 in pieces for the thought ! Let him but harm a hair of her 
 innocent, unprotected head, and by the Justice Seat of 
 Heaven, I swear to follow and drag him to an early grave, 
 and to endless perdition ! His own cousin ! his father's 
 sister's child ! 0, Heaven ! what a wretch !" 
 
 " But he don't know she's his cousin," put in Wesley, 
 as the other paused. 
 
 " Indeed ! are you sure ?" cried Ellen, catching at the 
 thought. 
 
 " Sure," answered the other. 
 
 " And do you think this knowledge would make any 
 difference with him ?" 
 
 " Think it would." 
 
 " I have it, then !" said Ellen, triumphantly. " Let 
 him bring her here ; and if he have one iota of a man's\ 
 soul in his breast, he shall, ere he leave this house, be 
 made to curse himself as the meanest thing that walks the 
 face of the earth. And Edgar dragged to prison !" she 
 continued, looking straight at Wesley : " Oh, there is foul
 
 182 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 wrong somewhere, which the guilty shall yet tremble for ! 
 God help the right, and shield the innocent from hell's 
 own dire inventions ! And how soon will Virginia be 
 here ?" 
 
 " Soon," was the answer. 
 
 " Go, then, sir ; and if you have aught to do with this 
 dark scheme, help it to succeed. Your part if, as I 
 fancy, you have one in the game shall be winked at, for 
 the important information you have given me." 
 
 " I've told you before," replied Wesley, " I seek revenge 
 on Acton Atherton ; and besides, the girl is a sweet crea- 
 ture to look at; she never wronged me, and I'd save her 
 from harm." 
 
 " Go, then, and rest satisfied, that, once here with his 
 fair cousin, you shall be revenged on Acton, and Virginia 
 shall escape scatheless. Go, now for I have plans of my 
 own to perfect, and would be alone." 
 
 " I obey, Miss Ellen," answered the attorney, respect- 
 fully ; and bowing, he departed. 
 
 So soon as she was once more by herself, Ellen rung a 
 bell ; and to the domestic who answered it, she said, in a 
 commanding tone : 
 
 "I would speak with Madame Costellan." 
 
 The servant withdrew : and in a few minutes Ellen was 
 joined by the person whose presence she desired a hand- 
 some female, richly dressed, and scarcely turned of thirty 
 years. With her, Ellen held a short but eager conference, 
 the nature of which it is needless for us here to disclose.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 HURRYING to the nearest coach-stand, Wesley sprung 
 into the first vehicle he came to, and bade the driver urge 
 his horses to Elizabeth street, as if life and death depended 
 on his speed. When the carriage stopped at the place 
 designated, he leaped out in haste, and was immediately 
 joined by Acton, who said, in a low tone : 
 
 " Curses on your laziness, Wes ! I have been waiting 
 till the marrow of my bones seems frozen. Had you 
 delayed five minutes longer, I should have been cosily 
 making love to that pretty seamstress up there, and warm- 
 ing myself by her cheerful fire." 
 
 "And you'd have spoiled all by doing so," replied the 
 other; "and my plan would not have been worth repeat- 
 ing." 
 
 " I don't know about that. I think the girl would have 
 been perfectly satisfied with such a good looking gallant 
 by her side ;" and again he stroked his chin, as was his 
 wont when egotism led him to compliment himself. " But 
 I didn't do it, Wesley, you know ; and so for the plan at 
 once for I am very impatient to be off." 
 
 " Well, you must remember and follow my instructions 
 to the letter, or all's up with us. In the first place, you 
 must be very civil to the girl must not even ask her her 
 name and only speak when she questions you, and then 
 only to answer her." 
 
 " What ! and must I not make love, eh ?" 
 
 (183)
 
 184 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " Pshaw ! be done with your nonsense. The girl thinks 
 she's going to be taken to a friend's house, a long ways 
 off, which she never saw nor the friends either." 
 
 " Good ! I like that it is capital. But what is her 
 name, Wes ?" 
 
 " Hush ! You must of course take a long ride before 
 you come to Mott street ; and no matter what she asks or 
 asserts, you must pretend to know all about it, and answer 
 to please her." 
 
 " Good again that I can do." 
 
 " May be she'll think she knows the place, and that it 
 isn't her friend's house; but you-must swear it is, you 
 know, and say the resemblance is great, and so on." 
 
 " I understand." 
 
 " And then, when you've once got her under cover, why 
 you know what to do better than I can tell you." 
 
 " Right there, my diamond !" 
 
 " Your own name, for the present, is Mr. "Wallace, and 
 you're a particular friend of the Mortons." 
 
 " What Mortons ?" inquired Acton, quickly, in an altered 
 tone. 
 
 " 0, hang it ! any Mortons to suit her." 
 
 "Bravo! ha, ha, I take." 
 
 " And that's all. Now I'll go and bring her down to 
 you, and you can tell the driver where to go." 
 
 Saying which, Wesley separated from Acton, and ascend- 
 ing the stairs, knocked at Virginia's door. In a moment 
 it cautiously opened, and the latter, all pale, and tearful, 
 and seemingly heart-broken, stood before him. A sight 
 of her disconsolate appearance, and the remembrance of 
 its being caused by his own villany, somewhat touched 
 the callous heart of even Nathan Wesley, and he muttered 
 to himself: 
 
 " If it wasn't I know no harm '11 come to her curse me
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 185 
 
 if I'd go on with this affair any further ! As it is, she'll 
 think me a scoundrel, and so will Ellen. But no matter ; 
 I've been so considered all my life, and might as well have 
 the game as the blame." 
 
 Then addressing her : 
 
 " Well, Miss Courtly," he said, " the coach is at the 
 door, and Mr. Wallace waits with it to conduct you to the 
 Mortons, who will be happy to see you as soon as possible." 
 
 " You have seen them then ?" said Virginia, eagerly . t 
 
 " Have seen them." 
 
 "And what said they of my brother?" 
 
 " Why, that you needn't give yourself any uneasiness, 
 Miss Courtly that he'd soon be free." 
 
 " Thanks ! thanks ! sir, for your kindness ! Oh, poor 
 Edgar ! how much he has to suffer ! and then to sleep in a 
 prison !" 
 
 " I beg pardon, ma'am," interrupted Wesley, who was 
 fearful of a scene, and impatient to take himself off: "I 
 beg pardon but the coach is waiting, and Mr. Wallace 
 bade me ask you would hurry, as it is already late." 
 
 "I will be ready in a moment," returned Virginia; and 
 hastily covering the fire, putting on her bonnet and shawl, 
 she blew out the light, locked the door, and accompanied 
 Wesley down stairs. 
 
 The coach was standing ready, with the door open ; and 
 assisting Virginia into it, Wesley motioned Acton, who 
 stood at a little distance, to approach, when he simply 
 introduced him as Mr. Wallace. Then seeing him seated 
 by Virginia, he shut the door, and sung out to the driver 
 that all was right. Crack went the whip, and away rolled 
 the carriage, to the great satisfaction of the attorney, who, 
 watching it out of sight, shook his fist after it, and mut- 
 tered : 
 
 "You called me an insolent dog to-night, did you* 
 K5
 
 186 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 Master Acton? and your father says he'll make his money 
 gave him ! By my soul ! I'm neither a dog nor a fool, as 
 you hoth shall find out to your cost before many days ;" 
 and chuckling inwardly at some scheme of his own, he 
 turned away and directed his steps to Mott street. 
 
 Stationing himself nearly opposite the lodgings of Ellen, 
 Wesley rather impatiently awaited the arrival of the vehi- 
 cle containing the cousins. And sorely was his patience 
 tried ; for it was a cold night, and a full hour before the 
 carriage made its appearance. But it came at last, stopped 
 at the right place, and immediately the figure of a man 
 sprung from it, assisting a female to alight. The latter 
 looked around curiously, and then Wesley heard her say : 
 
 " Why is this Calvin Morton's ?" 
 
 " Calvin Morton's!" exclaimed Acton, in astonishment ; 
 and then remembering Wesley's instructions, he quickly 
 added : " Ah yes 0, I had forgot. Yes, this is the 
 place this is Morton's.*' 
 
 " Strange !" said Virginia, glancing round, and over 
 the way, to the very spot where her poor mother had 
 breathed her last. " It all looks very familiar to me, and 
 I could almost make oath I stand in Mott street." 
 
 " Yes," said Acton, hurriedly, and rapping heavily on 
 the door " there is some resemblance, I own. How tardy 
 servants are," he continued, for. the purpose of engaging 
 the other's attention till he could get her within the house. 
 " I am sometimes completely out of patience, waiting their 
 sJow motions. Ah, here is one at last !" he added, as he 
 heard the rattling of bolts and chains; and almost at the 
 same moment the door opened slightly, and a voice from 
 within said: 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 " It is I Mr. Wallace," answered Acton, loudly ; and 
 then in a hurried whisper, too low to reach the ears of Vir-
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 187 
 
 ginia, added: "Acton Atherton, with a lady. Open 
 quick, and call me Wallace !" 
 
 The door immediately swung open, and Mr. Wallace 
 was politely invited to enter. 
 
 " This is the lady of whom I went in quest," he con- 
 tinued, slyly winking at the attendant. " Show me up 
 stairs, and (winking again) send Mrs. Morton to us at 
 once." Then watching his opportunity, he whispered in 
 the attendant's ear : " Conduct us to the Green Room, as 
 we call it, and send your mistress after a little, and tell 
 her my name is Wallace, and hers Morton. I have a 
 beauty to tame, you see. Isn't she pretty ?" 
 
 The other nodded and smiled. 
 
 " And how is Ellen ?" 
 
 " Not well." 
 
 " Curse her ! she always was getting sick, and so I've 
 picked up something better. But mum ! Not a word to 
 her of this !" 
 
 Then joining Virginia, Acton said he had just been 
 giving the servant a few instructions, and forthwith con- 
 ducted her into a very handsomely furnished apartment, 
 though possessing nothing of the gorgeousness of Ellen's, 
 from which a door opened into a bed-room, of which this 
 was the ante-room or parlor. A jet of gas sent forth a 
 soft, pleasant light, and a cheerful fire was burning in the 
 grate. Placing a couple of chairs before the latter, Acton 
 requested Virginia to remove her bonnet and shawl and 
 be seated. Scarcely had she done so*, when the door 
 opened, and the mistress of the house, familiarly known as 
 Madame Costellan, entered. Acton rose and introduced 
 her to Virginia as Mrs. Morton, but did not introduce Vir- 
 ginia to her, for the simple reason he did not know her 
 name himself, owing to the cunning precaution of Wesley, 
 who rightly judged such knowledge would ruin his scheme ;
 
 188 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 for base as Acton Atherton was, lie had a family pride, 
 and would just as soon have meditated the cutting of his 
 own throat as treating his kinswoman in this scandalous 
 manner. 
 
 But circumstances had completely deceived him in this 
 matter. In the first place, his plotting father had never 
 told either of his children that the Courtlys were in the 
 city in fact, he never at any time mentioned the name of 
 Courtly in their presence and hence, neither dreamed of 
 having indigent relations so near. In the next place, 
 Acton had seen Virginia for the first time when she was 
 procuring work, as already recorded; and struck with her 
 beauty, and believing her an ordinary seamstress, had made 
 the insulting advances which were checked by Dudley, 
 whom he knew as an honorable young man, and therefore 
 little cared to meet under such humiliating circumstances. 
 He had apparently taken an entirely different course than 
 the one pursued by Dudley and Virginia; but, notwith- 
 standing, had kept them in view, and traced the latter to 
 her own quarters. Returning home, he had related his 
 adventure to Wesley, whom he had long before discovered 
 an adept in the arts of villainy, and offered him fifty dol- 
 lars if he would find a way to place this girl in his power. 
 Wesley, ever ready to gain money, without any scrupulous 
 as to honesty, soon reconnoitered the premises, and found, 
 much to his surprise and gratification, it was the abode of 
 Edgar and Virginia, for whom he had been searching since 
 their removal from Matt street. This fact he at once made 
 known to the millionaire, but concealed from Acton, well 
 aware that to inform him the girl was his own cousin, 
 would be to lose himself the fifty dollars, besides a little 
 quiet revenge, which he had determined on from the first 
 in order to wipe out old scores. As chance would have it, 
 and as he partially expected. \Yesley was enabled to
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 189 
 
 kill two birds with one stone ; for the arrest of Edgar gave 
 him an opportunity to entrap Virginia, in what manner the 
 reader has already seen. At first Wesley had thought of 
 nothing more than to gain his reward and revenge, by 
 getting Acton to abduct his cousin, and leaving him to his 
 own chagrin, mortification and disappointment when he 
 should become aware of the fact, which he doubted not 
 would occur in time to avoid serious consequences. But 
 when Acton again insulted him, he determined to be more 
 deeply revenged ; and therefore, guided by circumstances, 
 took the course already described. 
 
 Wearing different habiliments never having scanned 
 his features closely, and her mind, too, being otherwise 
 occupied Virginia had not yet recognized in Acton the 
 individual who once insulted her. 
 
 Having thus, we trust, explained every thing to the 
 satisfaction of the reader, we will again take up the thread 
 of our story. 
 
 On being introduced as Mrs. Morton, Madame Costellan 
 bowed to her guest, eyeing her closely the while, and then 
 advancing, offered her her hand and bade her welcome. But 
 she had a part of her own to play, under the directions of 
 Ellen ; and turning to Acton, she whispered a few words 
 in his ear, and both left the apartment together. Scarcely 
 had the door closed behind them, when it again opened 
 quickly, and Ellen Douglas, entering in haste, flew to Vir- 
 ginia, her features very pale and her step nervous with 
 excitement. Surprised^ yet pleased to see her where she 
 least expected, Virginia started to her feet, with a smile of 
 recognition, and extending her hand, exclaimed: 
 
 " You here, Ellen Douglas?" 
 
 " Rather let me say, you here) Virginia Courtly ! alas ! 
 poor girl! you little dream where!" said the other hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 16*
 
 190 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " What mean you ?" asked Virginia, alarmed at Ellen's 
 tone and manner. 
 
 " That you are in the snares of a villain, who, but for 
 the- treachery of a confederate, might soon have had 
 another damning sin added to his long catalogue, already 
 stretched beyond God's mercy." 
 
 " You alarm me ! you speak in riddles I cannot com- 
 prehend !" 
 
 " Poor girl ! you little know you are beneath a roof 
 which covers none but guilty heads." 
 
 " And are the Mortons, then, so base?" 
 
 "The Mortons!" cried Ellen, in her turn astonished; 
 " what Mortons?" 
 
 "Is not/this the house of Calvin Morton, to which my 
 brother, who has just been dragged to prison for a crime 
 he never committed, bade me instantly repair ?" 
 
 "Calvin Morton!" exclaimed Ellen, still more asto- 
 nished : " Are you then acquainted with him or his family ?" 
 
 " I am not but Edgar is. Good heavens ! what do you 
 mean, Ellen? Am I not beneath his roof!" 
 
 " I would to God you were ! No ! you are beneath the 
 roof that has long sheltered me within a stone's throw of 
 where your poor mother died." 
 
 " Merciful God ! do you speak truth ? you set my 
 poor brain in a whirl of bewilderment!" 
 
 "No wonder, girl, if you fancied yourself secure at 
 Calvin Morton's. You have been deceived, Virginia 
 wofully deceived and by the same villain who first deceived 
 me whom I once loved but now hate your own cousin 
 Acton Atherton," 
 
 "Impossible!" gasped Virginia, too much astonished, 
 alarmed and bewildered to say more. 
 
 " All true as holy writ ! It was Acton Atherton that 
 brought you here but by what juggler's art I know not.
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 191 
 
 Tell me how it chanced, and I in return will tell you what 
 I know. Be quick, or we may be interrupted before my 
 plans are completed !" and hurriedly Virginia and Ellen 
 related to each other the prominent events of the night. 
 
 " You are supposed," said Ellen, in conclusion, " to be a 
 poor, unprotected girl, and are brought here for the worst 
 of purposes that Acton Atherton may triumph over me. 
 But I have him, and he shall sneak from this house like a 
 whipped cur ! or," she added, with a wild, vindictive 
 glare, " he shall hence on a journey that sends no travellers 
 back. Calm your agitation act as though nothing had 
 occurred to annoy you let him draw himself into his own. 
 devilish snare. Fear not ; all is arranged ; no harm shall 
 come to you. He knows you not yet but he shall, and to 
 his sorrow. I will be near you so fear not ! Hark ! I 
 hear steps. I must conceal myself. Remember ! be calm 
 and firm !" and Ellen sprung into the adjoining apartment, 
 leaving Virginia half frightened out of her senses, just as 
 the other door opened and admitted Acton Atherton, 
 
 " I beg pardon for keeping you so long waiting alone !" 
 he said, blandly, searching in vain on both sides of the lock 
 for the key, which the wise precaution of Ellen had removed. 
 " Curse it !" he muttered to himself, as he closed the door 
 and sprung a bolt, which might prevent ingress if not 
 egress; and then turning to Virginia, he added, with a 
 smile, and in the softest tone he could assume : " Mrs. 
 Morton wished to see me on a little private business but 
 I fear my absence has made the time tedious. Ha !" he 
 ejaculated, for the first time marking the agitation of Vir- 
 ginia, and coming close to her ; " what has happened to 
 make you tremble so, and look so pale ?" 
 
 "I am not well," she answered, shuddering and turning 
 away her head. 
 
 t; I^ay, sAvcct girl," he said, placing one hand carelessly
 
 192 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 on her shoulder, " do not turn away from one who loves 
 you." 
 
 With the bound of a tiger springing upon its prey, Vir- 
 ginia leaped from her seat, and with heaving bosom and 
 flashing eyes boldly confronted her cousin. As she did so, 
 she for the first time became aware that he who now stood 
 before her was the same who had once insulted her. 
 
 " Ha ! I know you now," she said, indignantly. "This 
 is not the first time we have met. Go ! I would not see 
 your face again. Go ! and send my friends to me." 
 
 " I am your friend," rejoined Acton ; " the best friend 
 you have in the world. See here," and he proffered her a 
 well filled purse. 
 
 Crimson with shame and indignation, Virginia looked 
 him defiantly in the eye for a moment, and then said, with 
 assumed composure, and in a tone peculiar for its deter- 
 mined distinctness : 
 
 " Go, sir, ere I call those here who will chastise you for 
 a scoundrel !" 
 
 Acton laughed. 
 
 " Do not think to intimidate me, my pretty one," he 
 said : " I have tamed many a one as wild as you. Come ! 
 let me swear to you I love you." 
 
 " And swear falsely, villain !" 
 
 " No, on my honor, truly ! 1 love you, and you alone ; 
 and it was to tell you my love I brought you here." 
 
 " Here !" echoed Virginia, in pretended surprise, carry- 
 ing out the instructions of Ellen. " Did I not come here 
 at my own request ?" 
 
 "Not exactly!" 
 
 " How so? Is not this the house of Calvin Morton?" 
 
 " Calvin Morton !" exclaimed Acton, turning pale, and 
 his whole manner changing, " Do you then know Calvin 
 Morton or his family ?"
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 193 
 
 " 0, no !" answered Virginia ; "but I have understood 
 he is a great lawyer, and my brother wished me to see 
 him." 
 
 "0, yes," rejoined Acton, greatly relieved, "he is a 
 great lawyer, and to-morrow I will take you to him, and 
 will go bail for your brother besides that is," he added, 
 " if you will not treat my love with disdain. I have de- 
 ceived you in bringing you here, I admit ; but then you will 
 recollect it was done for love, and forgive me will you not, 
 my little beauty ?" 
 
 Virginia replied not ; and Acton, fancying he had made 
 some impression, proceeded in a still softer and more mu- 
 sical strain : 
 
 " 0, if you did but know how ardently I love you how 
 I have pined for your sweet presence ever since I first be- 
 held you how I have sworn to prize and adore you above 
 all others I am sure you would let your beautiful eyes, in 
 which there is a heaven of blue, look pityingly upon me and 
 bid me hope ! Come, dearest, sit thee down, and let me 
 breathe my tale of holy love into, I trust, a not unwilling 
 ear !" and he approached to take her hand. 
 
 " Off!" cried Virginia, playing her part ; " you do not 
 love me !" 
 
 " By heavens, I do ! By all things bright and beauti- 
 ful, on earth or above earth by all the beaming stars, 
 which are no match for your sparkling eyes I swear to 
 you I love you, and only you that I never loved before, 
 and never will again !" 
 
 " Then if y^u love me, you will do what I command." 
 " Any thing, my angel only name it, and it shall be 
 done." 
 
 " Stand aside, then, and let me pass, and do not attempt 
 to follow," returned Virginia, resolutely, taking a step or 
 two toward the door, as if to quit the apartment.
 
 194 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " Nay, not that any thing but that !" cried Acton, 
 springing forward and intercepting her. " You must not 
 leave here so soon." 
 
 " What, sir ! dare you stop me ? Begone, I tell you, 
 or I will alarm the house !" 
 
 " Well, then," answered Acton, with a smile of triumph, 
 " I may as well inform you, that your alarming the house, 
 as you call it, will avail you nothing, since it is well under- 
 stood here that you and I are lovers. None, I assure you, 
 will interfere, even should you cry your lungs hoarse ; so 
 make your calculations accordingly." 
 
 "But I will pass !" persisted Virginia. 
 
 "Nay, you shall not!" cried Acton, catching hold of 
 her ; " and for the attempt, even, I will have a kiss, if I 
 die for it." 
 
 Virginia gave a piercing scream, and struggled violently 
 to escape but in vain. 
 
 "Be quiet, do !" said Acton : " I tell you I will have a 
 kiss, and resistance is useless ;" and as he struggled to 
 make good his boast, Virginia screamed again. 
 
 At this moment, a third figure, unseen by Acton, glided 
 swiftly to his side, and the voice of Ellen sounded in his 
 ear. 
 
 "Wretch!" she cried; "guilty wretch! what do you 
 with the innocent more ? Have you not damned your soul 
 enough already ?" 
 
 "Ha !" exclaimed Acton, turning fierce upon the intru- 
 der, almost overpowered with surprise and rage : " What 
 do you here, interfering with my affairs ?" 
 
 " I come to protect the unprotected to guard the in- 
 nocent to right the wronged and curse the guilty ! For 
 shame, vile wretch that you are base miscreant for 
 shame ! Down on your knees and sue for the pardon of 
 her who is your equal in birth, as she is your superior in
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 195 
 
 virtue so much as Heaven is of Hell ! Is it not enough 
 that you would wrong and have wronged those who are no 
 kin to you, but you must bring your hellish deeds home 
 upon your own relation your father's sister's child?" 
 
 " What is the meaning of this?" cried Acton, all amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " It means, vile dog ! that you have this night enticed 
 away, for a base purpose, your own poor cousin, Virginia 
 Courtly ; and that but for a more honest villain than your- 
 self, you might have been guilty of a crime for which slow 
 death on the rack were the only adequate punishment !" 
 
 " My cousin !" exclaimed Acton, looking at Virginia. 
 "Impossible ! This is some trick to deceive me ! I have 
 no cousins in the city the Courtlys are in Baltimore." 
 
 " On my part," returned Virginia, " there is no deceit. 
 As sure as your name is Acton Atherton, mine is Virginia 
 Courtly ; and as sure as you are the son of Oliver Atherton, 
 I am the child of his late sister, and your own cousin 
 by birth, though I shame to own it, and would to Heaven 
 I could sunder the tie of consanguinity." 
 
 " Hear you that, most monstrous of monsters !" hissed 
 Ellen in his ear. " Go ! take your worthless body hence ! 
 crawl away like a thrice-beaten cur ! and the next time 
 you attempt to triumph over me, entice your own sister to be 
 your companion, and be sure you have neither confidants 
 nor confederates !" 
 
 " By ! there is such a thing as goading me too far, 
 
 Ellen Douglas ; and though I played the coward twice to 
 you mark me ! I will never do it again: so beware, ere 
 you crowd a desperate man too far !" 
 
 " You fancy yourself desperate and no coward ?" asked 
 Ellen, quickly, with a singular, almost unearthly gleam in 
 her dark eye, which she fixed piercingly upon Acton's. 
 
 " I fancy myself both," replied Acton : " so be careful !"
 
 196 . THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 "Now will I prove you," she cried, triumphantly.' 
 " Here are two vials, (holding one in each hand) both alike, 
 and both contain the deadliest of poison. If you are des- 
 perate, and not a coward, now is the time to wipe out your 
 disgrace. I dare you to the trial ! Drain one, and I will 
 the other ;" and she reached both toward him, that he 
 might take his choice. 
 
 At first Acton turned pale and took a step back, as if 
 aghast at the idea. The next moment a malicious smile of 
 triumph flashed over his features and sparkled in his eyes ; 
 and seizing one of the vials, he threw out the cork suddenly, 
 and crying, " I accept your challenge," placed it to his 
 lips. 
 
 Quick as lightning Ellen imitated the movement, and 
 would have drank, but for Virginia, who, with a scream of 
 terror, sprung forward and dashed the poison to the floor. 
 
 " Here is the other," said Acton, coolly, reaching his 
 own vial toward Ellen. " I was only trying to see if you 
 were in earnest." 
 
 Ere Ellen could reply, there came a heavy rap on the 
 door ; and springing forward she threw it open. To her 
 surprise, a fine, noble-looking gentleman, accompanied by 
 two roughly clad individuals, entered, one of which latter 
 stepping up to the astonished Acton, laid a hand heavy on 
 his shoulder, saying gruffly : 
 
 " Acton Atherton, I arrest you !" 
 
 At the same time the foremost approaching Virginia, 
 breathed her name in a low, tender voice. She started, 
 looked at him eagerly, blushed, hesitated, and then yielding 
 to a powerful impulse, threw herself forward, and was 
 caught half fainting in the arms, and tenderly strained to 
 the wildly beating heart of Dudley.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE HAPPY DELIVERANCE. 
 
 NOT more astonished was Virginia at the sudden entrance 
 cf Dudley and the officers of police, than was Ellen herself 
 for these new-comers formed no share in her plot, which 
 only concerned a few inmates of the house, with whom she 
 had so arranged, that, at a given signal, they were to rush 
 in and witness the chagrin, rage and disappointment of 
 Acton ; and, in case he meditated violence, prevent him 
 doing injury. 
 
 In fact Dudley did not appear by any preconcerted 
 arrangement, but by one of those singular yet common- 
 place accidents, which, happening at an important crisis, 
 seem strange and mysterious, and almost force one to believe 
 in a special Providence. He had been in the lower part 
 of the city on business, and was on his return home at a 
 rather advanced hour, when the fancy struck him that he 
 wished to see Edgar we will not say that he did not 
 think of Virginia, but leave the reader to his own inference 
 and he therefore shaped his course accordingly, trusting 
 to good fortune to find the party he sought still astir. 
 
 As he came in sight of the house, a coach was standing 
 before the door ; and almost at the same moment a female 
 entered it, followed by a gentleman, and then it drove 
 away, leaving a third party behind. Dudley would have 
 thought nothing of this, but that he somehow fancied the 
 female was Virginia Courtly, and that the manner of 
 Wesley whom he well knew as a sort of attorney for 
 17 (197)
 
 198 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 Atherton, and whom the light of a lamp under which he 
 now passed enabled him to recognize had something in it 
 calculated to arrest attention ; for he shook his fist after 
 the carriage, and muttered words, the import of which 
 Dudley could only judge from his actions was of a threatening 
 nature. To say the least, there was something very singular 
 in all this, time and place considered ; and perceiving a 
 man standing in the door of the lower story, Dudley hastened 
 to him, and inquired if he knew the persons who had just 
 driven off in the carriage. The man replied that the lady 
 was a tenant of his, whose brother had just been arrested 
 for forgery and taken to the Tombs ; but that the gentleman 
 who accompanied her was one he had never before seen. 
 
 As a matter of course, the intelligence of Edgar's arrest 
 for so startling a crime as forgery, fell upon Dudley 
 with stunning force, and for a few moments he stood as 
 one bewildere'd. Then bethinking himself of Wesley, who 
 he fancied must know all about it, he darted away to 
 overtake him, leaving his informant to stare after him and 
 wonder whether or no he was in his right senses. Turning 
 the corner where he had last seen Wesley disappear, Dudley 
 hastened on for a square* or so, when he again came in 
 sight of him, moving along at a very leisure pace. As 
 he drew near, and was in fact about to accost him, he dis- 
 covered that the attorney was in one of those deep reveries, 
 when the mind, turned upon itself, takes no cognizance of 
 outward things, and was muttering, but loud enough for 
 Dudley to overhear : . 
 
 " Yes, by heavens ! I'll do it ; and then he may make 
 his money save him if he can. I've had this matter on my 
 conscience long enough ; and after I've forced him to buy 
 my silence, I'll to " Here the words became indis- 
 tinct, though the speaker grumbled to himself for some 
 time afterwards. At length Dudley heard him say, as if
 
 THE HAPPY DELIVERANCE. X. 199 
 
 in conclusion : " But first to see this madcap fairly caught 
 in his own trap." 
 
 The effect of this on Dudley was to alter his first deter- 
 mination, and, without letting himself be seen, to keep the 
 attorney in sight, rightly judging from his words and manner 
 there was some dark scheme afoot, a knowledge of which 
 he might never gain by showing himself too soon. Accord- 
 ingly when Wesley stopped in Mott street, before the house 
 where Ellen resided, Dudley screened himself, so that he 
 could, unseen by the other, not only watch all his motions, 
 but note every thing taking place around him. 
 
 Here his patience 'was much tried by long waiting; and 
 he was just on the point of throwing up his office of spy, 
 and accosting the attorney as to the meaning of his singular 
 manoeuvres, when the carriage, containing Acton and Vir- 
 ginia, halted nearly abreast of him, and he heard the 
 dialogue between them as they entered the house. There 
 was no longer doubt in his mind as to who they were for 
 well he knew them both and remembering their first 
 meeting, when he had interfered to save Virginia from 
 insult, he felt almost certain the latter was now the victim 
 of some damnable plot. His first impulse was to spring 
 forward to rescue ; but prudence counselled the wiser course 
 of being positive he was not mistaken in the matter, and 
 then going armed with the strong majesty of the law. He 
 therefore turned on his heel, and the next instant stood 
 confronting the astonished Wesley, who would scarcely 
 have been more^ surprised had a specter arisen in his place. 
 Seizing the attorney with a grip that both pained and 
 startled him, he said, in a low, eager, emphatic tone, 
 pointing with his other hand toward the house opposite : 
 
 " Who are those I have just seen enter?" 
 
 " How should I know ?" replied Wesley, trembling. 
 
 " Villain ! you do know !" rejoined Dudley, firmly, but
 
 200 THE FOKGED WILL. 
 
 still in a low, deep tone ; " and if you do not tell me on 
 the instant, I will have you arrested by the night-watch 
 and dragged to prison !" 
 
 "By what authority?" asked Wesley, attempting to as- 
 sume an easy assurance he was far from feeling. 
 
 " By the authority of that law, sir, which punishes most 
 severely a foul conspiracy like this. Nay, do not seek to 
 evade me by inventing falshood. It will not pass. I have 
 long been watching you, and know enough already to put 
 you in limbo. Speak quick, make a clean breast of it, and 
 you may go otherwise I will give you into custody." 
 
 Thus menaced, fearful of the consequences if he re- 
 mained obdurate, anxious to escape, and at the same time 
 deepen his revenge on Acton,- the trembling attorney only 
 stipulated that he should not be called in question ; and 
 then, in a few words, hurriedly put Dudley in possession 
 of the whole scheme of his confederate, his designs upon 
 Virginia, and the part he had himself played to prevent 
 the accomplishment of his fell purpose. So eagerly spoke 
 both, that the time consumed was scarce five minutes, ere 
 Dudley had gained ail he cared to know; and bid- 
 ding Wesley go home, as he valued his own safety, he 
 turned away to seek means for punishing the offender, and 
 rescuing one who had, for some time, occupied no small 
 share of his thoughts. 
 
 As chance would have it, the coach was still in waiting ; 
 and the driver, who had delayed departure on some busi- 
 ness of his own, was just in the act of mounting his box. 
 Hailing him, Dudley bade him remain a few minutes ; and 
 then hurrying away, he summoned a couple of the watch, 
 informed them what had transpired, and requested their 
 assistance which being readily granted, he, in their com- 
 pany, appeared upon the scene of action at what time and 
 in what manner the reader has already seen.
 
 THE HAPPY DELIVERANCE. 201 
 
 Thither let us again repair. 
 
 Overcome with astonishment, fear and rage, it was not 
 until Virginia, half-fainting, had been placed on a seat by 
 Dudley, and the room been tolerably well filled with the 
 inmates of the house, drawn hither by alarm and curiosity, 
 that Acton found sufficient command over his voice to ren- 
 der his words intelligible. 
 
 " Villain !" he cried at last, addressing himself to Dud- 
 ley " this is the second time you have crossed my path, and 
 by ! you shall rue it !' 
 
 " Keep your threats for those who fear you," retorted 
 Dudley in a calm tone ; " and beware what vill^pies you 
 attempt in future, or it will not be the last timolkm find 
 me a stumbling block in your guilty course." 
 
 " 0, that I were free !" shouted Acton, making as if he 
 would spring upon Dudley, were he not restrained by the 
 officers. 
 
 "If so you like, gentlemen," returned Dudley, address- 
 ing the latter, "set him free; and if he want justice and 
 chastisement at my hands, he shall have both, to his full 
 satisfaction I only protesting, that if I am forced to soil 
 my fingers dn so mean a coward as one who has sought by 
 the basest arts to degrade a lady to his own level that 
 lady his lawful cousin I do it merely to show him he now 
 stands in the presence of his master and superior." 
 
 Saying which, Dudley folded his arms on his breast, and 
 fixing his eyes steadily upon Acton's, gave him such a look 
 of cool, calm resolute defiance, that the gaze of the latter 
 quailed before it and fell. 
 
 "No, no, gentlemen we can't have any quarreling 
 here !" now spoke up one of the watch. 
 
 " Have no fear," replied Dudley, sarcastically; " the 
 youth is perfectly harmless among his own sex;" and he 
 turned away to speak with Virginia. 
 17*
 
 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 "By my soul, you shall eat your words some day !" re- 
 plied Acton, fiercely, whose courage, like that of many 
 others, always rose as the danger diminished. 
 
 "Look at him!" cried Ellen, tauntingly, pointing at 
 Acton with her finger, and addressing those around her. 
 " Is he not a brave youth and proper, to steal away his 
 own cousin by treachery, for his own foul ends ? Look at 
 him mark him that is Acton Atherton son of the great 
 millionaire, Oliver Atherton who is, I have learned, the 
 first in his profession of a hypocritical villain. By my 
 faith ! he has a hopeful pupil in his own son !" and she con- 
 cluded with a hysterical laugh, that thrilled the nerves of 
 all who heard it. 
 
 Even Acton himself, who was gnashing his teeth in rage 
 at her taunts, suddenly changed countenance when he 
 heard that laugh, and glanced toward her a startled ex- 
 pression, in which something like pity could be traced. As 
 he did so, he saw her stagger and fall, and heard the 
 females around cry that Ellen Douglas had fainted. 
 
 Mortified, abashed, ashamed of himself, Acton now 
 quitted the room in company with the officers ; and as he 
 did so, he saw Ellen borne behind him to her own apart- 
 ment, in a state of unconsciousness. 
 
 As slowly he threaded his way to the gloomy Tombs 
 reflecting upon his last career, his dissolute course and 
 deeds of villainy the pale specter of Ellen Douglas seemed 
 to rise up before him, with a wobegone visage, and point 
 to him as the author of her misery her sad voice, in 
 humble entreaty, seemed sounding in his ear and for the 
 first time in his life, perhaps, Acton felt the bitter stings 
 of a conscience touched with remorse. 
 
 "Are you able to ride, Virginia?" asked Dudley, in a 
 low, tender voice, as soon as the room had become partially 
 
 '
 
 THE HAPPY DELIVEBANCE. 
 
 vacated. " If so, we will at once away, for this is no 
 place for such as you." 
 
 " But whither shall I go ?" interrogated Virginia, bursting 
 into tears. " I have no home now ; my poor brother, God 
 help him! is in prison." 
 
 "Nay, do not weep, Virginia I pray you, do not!" 
 pleaded Dudley, in soothing tones. " " Your brother shall 
 soon be restored to you for he has friends more powerful 
 than he thinks and like you, I believe him innocent. He 
 is doubtless the victim of some foul conspiracy; and rest 
 assured he shall yet triumph, while his enemies plunge into 
 the pit they have dug for him. I have my suspicions of 
 the author of this black scheme ; and if I find them verified, 
 he shall wish he had never been born. But come ! if you 
 feel able to ride, we will no longer tarry here." 
 
 " But whither will you take me ?" 
 
 "To the widow Malcolm's, or Calvin Morton's, which- 
 ever you prefer ; and I, being acquainted with both parties, 
 will insure you a warm reception at either place." 
 
 " To the latter, then," said Virginia, "if it will not 
 incommode them and you too much for thither dear 
 Edgar bade me repair." 
 
 " Speak not of incommoding, Virginia," said Dudley, 
 earnestly, while a warm, enthusiastic glow overspread his 
 features, " for I would go to the ends of the earth to serve 
 you!" 
 
 "I thank you!" faltered Virginia, blushing and giving 
 the other one sweet look from her soft blue eyes, that 
 thrilled his soul as never look had done before. And then 
 she added quickly, as if to cover a rising embarrassment : 
 " But I must see Ellen before I go, and thank her for her 
 kindness in protecting me !" 
 
 In this Virginia was disappointed ; for on inquiry, she
 
 204 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 learned that Ellen, having partially recovered from her 
 swoon, was now delirious, and would not recognize her. 
 
 " Poor child of grief and misfortune !" sighed Virginia, 
 as she turned away, and, accompanied by Dudley, quitted 
 the house. 
 
 The coach which had home her hither was still standing 
 at the door ; and entering it again, but with a very different 
 companion, Virginia rode away, with a heart much lightened 
 by a strong feeling of protection and hope, the first she 
 had experienced since Edgar's arrest. 
 
 On their way to the Mortons, Dudley and Virginia con- 
 versed freely he detailing the manner he had been brought 
 to her rescue and she, all she knew of the imposition 
 which had caused her to need his assistance. 
 
 " That rascally attorney had more to do with this affair 
 than I thought," said Dudley, as Virginia explained the 
 stratagem he used' to entice her away ; " but he only 
 serves a master whom I may yet make tremble for his 
 black-hearted deeds. The very fact of his being there at 
 the time of arrest, shows plainly that Oliver Atherton is 
 the master-worker of the plot, doubtless contrived to ruin 
 you and Edgar, so that none may be left to bring his 
 former villainies to light. But he has over-shot himself in 
 this matter ; and will find, to his cost, that he has roused 
 a spirit that can and will be as bold in the cause of right 
 as he dare be in that of wrong !" 
 
 It was past midnight when the coach drove up before the 
 door of Calvin Morton. Save a light in the hall, all ap- 
 peared dark and gloomy ; and Dudley, as he boldly rung 
 the bell, doubted not that all the inmates were locked in 
 slumber. But in this he was mistaken ; for scarcely had 
 the echoes of the bell died away, ere he heard quick foot- 
 steps along the hall ; and the next moment the door was
 
 THE liAIM J Y DELlVliKANGK. 205 
 
 thrown open, and Calvin Morton himself, with a book in 
 his hand and a pen in his mouth, stood before him. 
 
 "Why, bless my soul! is this you?" he said, in his 
 rapid, impetuous manner. " Come in come in ! Heaven 
 save us all ! I trust nothing alarming has occurred ! Your 
 mother is well, eh?" 
 
 u Quite well, I thank you, Mr. Morton," replied Dudley, 
 glancing at the coach significantly. 
 
 " Eh ! what !" said Morton, following the other's glance 
 with his own. " Who is in there, eh ?" 
 
 " One who needs your kindest protection, as she amply 
 deserves it." 
 
 " God bless her, then she shall have it !" rejoined Mor- 
 ton, emphatically. 
 
 "A word in private first," said Dudley; and drawing 
 the other aside, out of earshot of Virginia, he hurriedly 
 narrated the leading events of the night, beginning with 
 Edgar's arrest, and ending with his own rescue of Virginia 
 from her cousin. 
 
 " So, so the foul fiend seize them that play the devil's 
 game, say I ! The old one plans, and the young one exe- 
 cutes. A hopeful pair, truly. Heaven help and God bless 
 him ! poor Edgar has been sent to prison ! Well, well, it 
 shall work out his own salvation ; for when the devil 
 prompts too much, you know his pupils often lose most 
 where most they think to win. I am glad to see you on 
 the right side, Cla " 
 
 " Hush ! a word in your ear !" interrupted the other. 
 
 " 0, yes certainly, Mr. Dudley any thing to oblige. 
 I see you are sly ; but no matter ;. we all have our whimsi- 
 calities. Why, bless my soul ! here I am rattling away, 
 and yonder sits the maiden, waiting as patiently as a bird 
 in a cage ;" and he darted down the steps to the carriage, 
 exclaiming, as he reached out his hand to Virginia :
 
 206 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " My dear Miss Courtly, I don't know that we ever met 
 before but I knew your lamented father, and a gentle- 
 man he was I know your brother, and a most noble young 
 man he is I have heard of you ; and so pardon me, if I 
 eschew all formality, consider ourselves acquainted, and 
 welcome you here as I would a long absent daughter." 
 
 "I can but thank you," replied Virginia, her eyes moist 
 and voice faltering at the frank and hearty kindness with 
 which the other received her. 
 
 " Why, Heaven bless you, sweet creature !" pursued Mor- 
 ton, as he assisted her to alight and conducted her up the 
 steps of his dwelling ; " what more could one ask than thanks 
 from such pretty lips, unless it were a taste of their sweet- 
 ness ! But pshaw ! compliments are not in my line ; and 
 so I'll leave them and you to*my friend Ma Dudley here, 
 while I go and call Edith." 
 
 " Stay !" said Virginia, earnestly, touching his arm as 
 he was moving away ; " do not, I beg of you, disturb any 
 one to-night on my account ! I fear I have proved too 
 troublesome already." 
 
 "Why, bless your modest soul!" replied Morton, with 
 warmth, smiling cheerfully upon his guest, " I see you 
 don't know us yet, or you wouldn't talk of being trouble- 
 some to those who are indebted to your noble brother that 
 this house is not decked in the sable weeds of mourning. 
 Why, Edith has done nothing but talk about you all day, 
 and would grieve herself sorely, should I let you sleep here 
 without her knowledge. Conduct her into the parlor a 
 - Dudley you know the way and I will soon join you." 
 
 Saying which, Mr. Morton hastened forward, threw opon 
 the parlor door as he passed, and disappeared up a flight 
 of stairs at the far end of the hall. Scarcely had Dudley 
 complied with his request, and seated his fair charge and
 
 THE HAPPY DELIVERANCE. 207 
 
 himself, ere the other again made his appearance, saying 
 Edith would soon be with them. 
 
 "And now," he concluded, "as I have important busi- 
 ness that must be attended to before I sleep, I trust to 
 your good sense to excuse me. Good-night, Virginia," 
 he added, taking her hand and pressing it warmly ; " I 
 shall see you, I trust, at breakfast, and will immediately 
 take what steps I can to release your brother, who, I doubt 
 not, is in prison by means of a foul plot. Dudley, let me 
 see you early, to concert our plan of operations. Good- 
 night again God guard us all !" and bowing he withdrew. 
 
 In a few minutes Edith glided into the parlor, with a 
 step so light that neither of her guests heard her till she 
 stood before them. With a graceful bow and smile of re- 
 cognition to Dudley, she at once sprung to Virginia, and 
 seizing her hand, kissed her affectionately, and bade her 
 welcome to her new home, which she trusted would always 
 be one to her. In return, Virginia thanked her warmly, 
 with tearful eyes ; and in a moment, as it were, these two 
 artless beings felt they were friends for life. 
 
 " No one not even yourself, dear Virginia," said Edith, 
 naively, " can feel more deeply grieved for your noble 
 brother than I ; but father says the charge against him is 
 false, and I believe him ; for surely, if ever a man was in- 
 capable of crime, it is he." 
 
 Virginia, unable to repress her emotion longer, burst 
 into tears ; while Edith, with true affection, hastened to 
 console her. 
 
 " Grieve not, my dear sister," she said, "for you shall 
 be a sister to me, to-morrow, trust me will set all right. 
 And Acton, too I have heard of his baseness, and have 
 torn him from my heart as I would a viper from my bosom. 
 Oh, the wickedness of those to whom we look for ennobling 
 virtues ! but they will not always prosper ; and Retribu,-
 
 208 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 tion, with a heavy hand, will surely overtake them at last. 
 Let us put our trust in a Higher Power, and with an easy 
 conscience fear not the machinations of the evil minded. 
 Sin ever carries its own punishment, and sooner or later 
 the guilty must feel it." 
 
 "Nobly spoken!" chimed in Dudley, rising to take his 
 leave ; and then, motioning Edith aside, he whispered a 
 few words in her ear. Edith smiled, glanced slyly toward 
 Virginia, and rejoined: 
 
 " I will remember, Mr. Dudley." 
 
 " Do so," said Dudley, " and put me under an obliga- 
 tion. Cheer up your fair guest, Edith, and count on see- 
 ing me early in the morning. Good-night to both, and 
 pleasant dreams ;" and bowing, he departed, sprung into 
 the coach, and was driven home. 
 
 "You are fatigued, dear Virginia," said Edith, as Dud- 
 ley left, " and need repose. Come, you shall be my guest 
 for the night;" and she conducted the latter to her own 
 splendid apartment, where for the present we leave them 
 both. 
 
 -'
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 IN the elegant mansion of Oliver Atherton, on the third 
 floor, separated alike from the members of the family and 
 the servants or domestics of the house, Nathan Wesley had 
 his own sleeping-apartment. It was a small room, plainly 
 but neatly furnished, containing a bed, wardrobe, secre- 
 tary, and a few books, scattered, many of them carelessly, 
 about, and such other articles as the attorney fancied both 
 convenient and useful. Here, at an early hour on the morn- 
 ing ensuing the night of the events just detailed, the lordly 
 millionaire, with his toilet half made, was pacing to and fro 
 with rapid steps, his features expressive of vindictive pas- 
 sions excited to a pitch little short of frenzy ; on whom 
 Wesley, just startled from a sound sleep, and partly risen 
 in bed, still rubbing his heavy eyelids, was staring with a 
 sort of drowsy wonder, that had in it much of the ludicrous. 
 
 " Up, sluggard !" shouted Atherton, looking fiercely at 
 the other, and seeming by his manner undetermined 
 whether or no to use violent measures to bring him speed- 
 ily to his senses. **VUp, villain ! and give an account of 
 your last night's treachery ! Where is Acton, my son ?" 
 
 " How should I know ?" replied the attorney, in some 
 trepidation. 
 
 " How should you know ?" repeated Atherton sneeringly ; 
 " because the devil should know what becomes of his 
 victims ?" 
 
 18 (209)
 
 210 THE J'ORGED WILL. 
 
 "Then you ought to know without asking ine," was the 
 impudent reply. 
 
 " Villain !" cried Atherton completely beside himself 
 with passion, springing forward and seizing Wesley by the 
 throat : " bridle thy saucy tongue, and give straight answers, 
 or I'll tear it from thy foul mouth, and feed my dogs on it ! 
 Where is Acton, I say ?" 
 
 "I don't know," replied the other sullenly, as Atherton 
 released his hold. 
 
 " Liar, you do know ! Where did you leave him ?" 
 
 I didn't leave him at all. He left me to run off with 
 a woman." 
 
 "And you enticed him into the scheme." 
 
 "No I didn't," contradicted Wesley bluntly. "He 
 enticed me to assist him." 
 
 " And then you betrayed him." 
 
 "But he insulted me first," muttered the attorney. 
 
 "Wretch ! I have a mind to strangle you for your 
 treachery ! As if he could insult you mean worthless 
 dog that you are almost unfit to do his menial services ! 
 And what think you became of your baseness?" 
 
 " I don't know," answered the other, doggedly. 
 
 "No, nor you don't care," rejoined Atherton. 
 
 " Nor don't eare," grumbled the attorney, too low to 
 reach the other's ears. 
 
 " Well, I will tell you what became of him, base ingrate !" 
 pursued Atherton, vehemently. "Pie spent the night in 
 prison ! In prison, do you hear ? Think of that, sir ! 
 Acton Atherton, my son, in prison, in company with com- 
 mon thieves and vagabonds, and all through your infernal 
 villainy !" 
 
 " Where I'll put the father soon," muttered Wesley to 
 himself, with a devilish grin of triumph lurking around the 
 corners of his mouth.
 
 DIAMOND C.UT DIAMOND. 211 
 
 " Cease your grinning !" shouted Atherton, his features 
 distorted with rage, as he glared ferociously upon Wesley, 
 who, springing up in bed, and hurrying on his garments, 
 withdrew to the further side, as if fearing the other would 
 do him violence. " Cease, I tell you!" pursued Atherton, 
 
 advancing toward him ; " or by ! I'll make it the grin 
 
 of death. My son in prison, through the machinations and 
 treachery of you whom I picked up in the streets of Balti- 
 more, little better than a beggar, and raised to the exal- 
 ted position of attorney and confidant ; think of that, 
 villain ! Not half an hour since, I received a message from 
 Acton, accusing you, and praying me to come to his relief; 
 I came up here to chastise you ; and if I do not, ere I leave, 
 you may thank your lucky stars ! Acton in prison my 
 family disgraced what will the world say ?" 
 
 " Say that he deserves it," replied Wesley, who, though 
 afraid of the other, could not restrain a malicious propen- 
 sity to irritate him still further. 
 
 Atherton made no direct reply ; but clenching his hand, 
 he came close to the bed, and raised it as if to strike. 
 
 " Stop !" cried Wesley, fixing upon him a demoniacal look 
 of defiance, that, enraged as he was, made him hesitate. 
 " Stop !" he repeated, placing one hand in his pocket, as if 
 to draw a concealed weapon. "You've laid hands on me 
 once already : do so again, and by the blood of the murdered ! 
 I'll send your spirit after his !" 
 
 " Well," rejoined Atherton, lowering his fist and turning 
 very pale, evidently fearful the other would keep his oath 
 should he attempt violence, and, at the same time, desirous 
 to impress Wesley with the belief he had only changed his 
 design for one still more severe : " now since you have 
 mentioned that, mark me ! If Acton comes to harm, 
 through this baseness of yours, I'll have you hung, if it 
 sinks my- ( for tune to do it !"
 
 212 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " Will you ?" grinned Wesley. " Now mark me, Oliver 
 Atherton, and don't forget one word I say ! You've been 
 talking largely of what you'll do, and what you've done, 
 and now I want you to listen to me ! You say you picked 
 me up in the streets of Baltimore, little better than a beg- 
 ger, and raised me to the nonorable position of being your 
 attorney and confidant, llather say you degraded me to 
 that position by your own devilish arts ! If I was poor then 
 I was a much honester man than now, and had a conscience 
 that didn't trouble me. But you found me, and knew from 
 my nature I could be tempted to guilt for money ; and you 
 offered me money lo do your dirty work ; and after I'd 
 done it, you dared nqt let me go, for fear I might get you 
 into difficulty by speaking of something that had happened ; 
 and so you kept me near you, and made me what you've 
 boasted of, and promised me you'd not only make a great 
 man of me, but what is of still more consequence, a rich 
 one. Well, sir, I've been with you about five years now, 
 and don't see as I am much richer than I was before, 
 excepting my salary, which has been a small one. Now 
 that these matters have been brought forward by you, and 
 you've taken the liberty to tell me of my baseness and 
 meanness, which you've had the benefit of, and how I'm 
 hardly fit to serve your honorable son as a menial, I'll 
 trouble you for that little balance, cry quits, and let you 
 get somebody that will serve you better." 
 
 " Nay, good Wesley, I was but in a passion, and spoke 
 hastily," returned the hypocrite, alarmed at the other's 
 words, and changing his angry countenance to one of 
 smiles, and his harsh tone to one of blandness. " I could 
 not think of parting with you on any terms." 
 
 " Well, I must have that balance, at all events," rejoined 
 Wesley, looking slyly and maliciously at the other with his 
 small, black, fiery eyes.
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 213" 
 
 " To what balance do you allude ?" mildly asked the 
 hypocrite. 
 
 " Why, the balance that was to make me rich." 
 
 " I do not understand you." 
 
 "Probably not: I know it is very hard for a man to 
 understand when he don't want to. I'll simplify the mat- 
 ter; I want twenty thousand dollars." 
 
 " Good heavens ! Wesley, you are not in your senses." 
 
 " 0, but I am, though. I am in my senses now, and 
 should have been long before, but that I thought your gen- 
 erosity would save me the painful necessity of asking you 
 for what you promised." 
 
 "But I never promised this, my dear Wesley." 
 
 " No ; but you promised to make me rich ; and twenty 
 thousand dollars is the very lowest sum I could accept for 
 an independency." 
 
 " But consider ?" 
 
 " I have," replied the attorney, with a malicious grin : 
 " I have considered : five years of servitude, crimes 
 worthy of the gallows, besides a good many insults before 
 these I've just received, and the strongest fact of all, that 
 I hold a secret would ruin you." 
 
 "But I cannot part with such a sum." 
 
 " Then lose the whole." 
 
 " But, my dear Wesley " 
 
 "Stop! Dear Wesley me no more. I'm talking on 
 business matters now, and particularly want all dears left 
 out. Keep them to cozen new dupes with. I want twenty 
 thousand dollars at once !" 
 
 " How will you have it ?' 
 
 " In cash." 
 
 " Why you must have lost your senses, surely !" 
 
 " 0, no just found them. You have fifty thousand 
 dollars in the hands of John Peyton, subject to instant 
 18*
 
 214- THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 withdrawal. Give me a check on him for twenty thousand, 
 or you're not safe twenty-four hours !" 
 
 "You would betray me, then !" said Atherton, sternly, 
 his brow again darkening ; and stepping hastily to the door, 
 he locked it and withdrew the key. 
 
 Wesley turned pale, but still trusted to his brazen 
 assurance to triumph at last. 
 
 "What is the use of suck caution ?" he asked, with 
 assumed carelessness. "Nobody is about to trouble or 
 overhear us." 
 
 " So much the better," replied Atherton, glancing eagerly 
 around, as if seeking means to accomplish some dark 
 design. 
 
 " I know your thoughts," spoke Wesley, retreating to the 
 further end of the room. "You're thinking how you can 
 put me out of the way, and silence my tongue. But you're 
 very foolish ; for if you kill me, of course it will be proved 
 on you, and you'll have to swing for it. Better give the 
 twenty thousand and save yourself." 
 
 "Never!" exclaimed the millionaire, stamping his foot 
 violently. " I will not be so imposed on ! Down on your 
 knees, villain ! and swear, by all you hold sacred, to keep 
 my secret, or be the consequences what they may, you 
 shall never quit this apartment alive !" 
 
 As he said this, Atherton made a bound forward to 
 seize the attorney ; but the next moment recoiled in dis- 
 may, as the click of a pistol sounded ominously in his ear. 
 
 "Turn about is fair play," cried Wesley, following up the 
 hasty retreat of the other with a pistol leveled at his head. 
 
 " Open that door now, and give me free exit ; or by ! 
 
 you're a dead man before you can say your prayers !" 
 
 "I yield," returned Atherton, biting his nether lip till 
 the blood sprang through ; and he unlocked and threw 
 open the door.
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 215 
 
 " How about the money ?" queried Wesley, carelessly 
 playing with the weapon to the endangerment of the other's 
 safety. " Are we to part as friends, or how ?" 
 
 " If we part in life, Heaven send we part not as foes !" 
 answered Atherton. " We have both been too hasty. 
 Come down and you shall have a check for all you ask ; 
 and then we must see what can be done with Acton and 
 young Courtly." 
 
 " Well, since you've got reasonable," said the other, 
 impudently, his late success having greatly exalted him in 
 his own estimation, " I will honor you with my company." 
 
 " You are very condescending," rejoined Atherton ; and 
 the two descended to the library a large, square room on 
 the second floor, well stored with books of every descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 Pointing Wesley to a seat, Atherton opened his escri- 
 toir, wrote a few lines, and handed the other the paper. 
 
 " This is all right," said Wesley, glancing over it 
 " with the exception of one thing," he added, returning it. 
 
 " What is that ?" asked the other. 
 
 " I want you to give it to me before witnesses. No 
 Edgar Courtly games, you know." 
 
 The sudden but marked change in the countenance of 
 the millionaire, indicated he had something of the latter 
 kind in his thoughts ; but he said, quickly : 
 
 " Certainly, certainly you shall be satisfied ;" and he 
 rung for the servant, who, so soon as he appeared, he bade 
 hasten all the other servants and his daughter, if she had 
 risen, to the library. 
 
 All appeared save Arabella; and in their presence, 
 Atherton placed the check in Wesley's hand, saying it 
 was a gift from him to the other of twenty thousand dol- 
 lars, and he desired all to bear witness to it. He then 
 dismissed them, and turned to Wesley. "Now," he said,
 
 216 THE FORGED WILL 
 
 " you are bound to me. I have fulfilled my part of the 
 agreement, and claim your services on all difficult points. 
 In the first place, what is to be done with this young 
 Courtly ?" 
 
 "Let him go," replied Wesley. 
 
 " How, sir ! after all our trouble to get him there ?" 
 
 " Can't help it ; but you see, in the first place, it will 
 be very hard to prove the forgery, which can only be done 
 by false witnesses, even if he had no friends but next to 
 impossible now, since he's got, by some sorcery or other, 
 that I can't understand, two of the most powerful ones I 
 know of?" 
 
 "Who are they?" 
 
 " Calvin Morton and Clarence Malcolm." 
 
 " Indeed ! is it so ?" cried Atherton, with a start. " So, 
 so then we must not appear against him for even Satan 
 himself could not outwit this Morton. And besides, being 
 thrown off my guard last night, like a fool, I fairly betrayed 
 myself, by telling Malcolm I had given Edgar a check for 
 a thousand dollars ; and since he is so much interested, of 
 course he would come forward as a witness. At first I 
 thought, with your help, we might outswear Clarence 
 but if Morton has taken hold of the matter, we might as 
 well let it drop as it is. But, Wesley, (and the scheming 
 man glanced warily around and spoke low,) could you not 
 contrive some plan to rid us of him, as you did of " 
 
 " Hist !" interrupted Wesley, starting up and looking 
 fearfully around. "Never mention his name again to me! 
 never, never ! I've had enough of him already." 
 
 "Well, well, let him go. You understand what I 
 
 mean 
 
 i" 
 
 "I understand." 
 
 " And is there not some way, think you ?" 
 
 " Well, I'll consider it."
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 217 
 
 " Do so, my good Wesley. Only hit upon some plan 
 to rid us of him, and I will double the amount already 
 given." 
 
 " But why do you want him out of the way ?' 
 
 " Why ? Because I both fear and hate him. He has 
 dared to threaten me to my face and no man shall do 
 that without feeling my revenge." 
 
 " Well, as I said before, I must consider on it. I'll see 
 what can be done," he continued, giving the other a very 
 peculiar look, " and then you shall hear from me." 
 
 " That is right," rejoined Atherton, grasping the attor- 
 ney by the hand. " Let us be friends henceforth, and 
 that little affair of this morning be forgotten. Remember 
 another twenty 1 thousand. And as for Acton why 
 hasten at once to Malcolm, make my most humble apologies 
 for what happened last night, plead youthful indiscretion 
 for my son, say he is sorry for it, that it was in a great 
 measure your own fault, beg him to be lenient, and in short, 
 get his promise not to appear against him. That done, 
 he is safe ; for the other witnesses, if there are any, can 
 be easily bought off. Now hasten, good Wesley, and 
 return soon and let me know the result; and besides, 
 think over in the meantime what can be done with this 
 Courtly. Our cards have been rather unskilfully played 
 of late, and this cursed nephew is deep at work under- 
 mining my stainless reputation, so that we must move 
 cautiously in the matter. If we can only get him silenced 
 trust me, the sun shall again brightly beam through the 
 clouds that are lowering upon us. Do your part, good 
 Wesley, and leave the rest to me. Now away and report 
 me soon ;" and bowing, with a glance of triumph on his 
 countenance, which Atherton fancied augured success to 
 his own cause, the attorney quitted the apartment. 
 
 "Now diamond cut diamond," pursued Atherton, in an
 
 218 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 exulting tone, as soon as Wesley was out of sight. "Now 
 then, I have them both ! Wesley shall make away with 
 Edgar, like a short sighted fool as he is, and then good 
 Nathan Wesley shall swing for his pains, while I will 
 laugh in the triumph of security that I am master of my 
 own secret." 
 
 " Will you," grinned Wesley to himself, who, instead 
 of instantly departing, had lingered by the door with his 
 ear to the key hole. " Will you ? ha, ha ! ^and you will 
 make your money save you ! yes, most certainly ;" 
 and shaking his check with an air of defiance, and chuck- 
 ling at his own thoughts, he glided silently down stairs, 
 and the next moment was in the street.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE EXAMINATION. 
 
 ABOUT half an hour later in the morning, Calvin Mor- 
 ton was pacing the floor of his library with a hasty step 
 and an anxious countenance, the latter expressive of fear 
 mingled with hope, doubt weighed against faith. 
 
 "Pshaw!" he said to himself; "it isn't possible! I 
 could not be so deceived ; and yet if it should prove true 
 But no ! no ! I will not so wrong him. I would Cla- 
 rence were come, that I might know the result of his inter- 
 view. Ha ! perhaps that is he !" he added, as at the 
 moment he heard a coach drive up to the door. 
 
 The lawyer was not long kept in suspense; for almost 
 the next moment he heard rapid steps along the hall, 
 and then the door was flung suddenly open, and Dudley 
 entered. 
 
 "Well, you have seen him?" said Morton, quickly. 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " And how fares he ?" 
 
 " As well as could be expected under the trying circum- 
 stances. He was delighted to see me, and I thought 
 would never cease shaking my hand and expressing his 
 boundless gratitude." 
 
 " You delivered my message ?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " And he vowed, by all he held sacred, that a child un- 
 
 (219)
 
 220 THE FORGED WILL 
 
 born was not more free from such a crime, even in thought, 
 than lie." 
 
 'I knew it I knew it !" almost shouted Morton, fairly 
 dancing around the room in an ecstacy of delight. " God 
 be thanked ! I knew he was innocent ! And what does he 
 think of it ?" 
 
 " That it is a base plot of his uncle to crush him. The 
 check for a thousand dollars " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know all about that." 
 
 " He found, yesterday, after he saw you, and had it 
 cashed." 
 
 " Ha ! yes now I see and his uncle arrested him for 
 forging it?" 
 
 " So he thinks." 
 
 "But, can he prove Atherton gave it to him ?" 
 
 "Yes, I will swear to that." 
 
 " Then we are safe ; and the old scoundrel shall find, 
 ere long, it is imprudent to play carelessly with edge tools. 
 Well, what about Acton ?" 
 
 " I thought Edgar would go demented, when I explained 
 the infernal plot against his sister, and how I had suc- 
 ceeded in arresting his cousin in the very act of his vil- 
 lainy. He declares I must appear against him, with what 
 other evidence I can find, and that he must be pushed 
 to the extreme of the law. I replied, I would consult with 
 you, but that I was fearful it was one of those aggra- 
 vated cases which the law will not reach. There can be 
 nothing proved save deception for Virginia herself ad- 
 mits she went willingly, under the supposition she was be- 
 ing taken here and I know of no law that will reach such 
 a case. What think you, Mr. Morton ?" 
 
 The lawyer mused seriously a moment, and then re- 
 plied : 
 
 " For a case of deception, such as you represent, the
 
 THE EXAMINATION. 221 
 
 law has no penalty ; but methinks this may be taken on 
 another ground. Remain a moment I must first ques- 
 tion Virginia." 
 
 Here Morton absented himself about ten minutes, and 
 then returning, said : 
 
 " We have him now, if we prefer the charge of false 
 imprisonment for he locked the door on Virginia, and by 
 force detained her against her will. This can be proved 
 by Ellen Douglas, who was in an adjoining apartment and 
 witnessed all. In an aggravated form like the present 
 one, this is a serious offence, and he will do well to escape 
 imprisonment." 
 
 " Which Heaven grant he may not do !" rejoined Dud- 
 ley ; " for if all I hear of him it is time his infamous career 
 received a check sufficient to startle him into a long-needed 
 reformation. But as I am to appear against him, I sup- 
 pose it is high time I was there." 
 
 "True; the Recorder holds his court early; and should 
 his turn come, and there be no witnesses present, he will 
 be discharged." 
 
 " Then I will go at once. But as regards Virginia ?' 
 
 " Why, she must along with you. Stay ! I will inform 
 her at once, and Edith shall be her companion. You will 
 remain to Edgar's examination also, at which I will en- 
 deavor to be present myself;" and the lawyer hastened out 
 of the library. 
 
 In less than five minutes he returned, accompanied by 
 Virginia and his daughter, both bonnetted and shawled for 
 instant departure. Dudley greeted each warmly, and im- 
 mediately conducted them to a splendid barouche standing 
 at the door, attached to which was a noble span of black 
 horses, and, holding the reins, a black driver in livery. 
 
 Assisting the ladies into the vehicle, Dudley was in the 
 act of following, when he heard his name pronounced in a 
 19
 
 222 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 low tone ; and looking round, to his surprise and indigna- 
 tion, he beheld Nathan Wesley. 
 
 " I've been seeking you some time," said the latter, 
 " and would like a few minutes' conversation." 
 
 " Another time, then," replied Dudley ; and springing 
 into the carriage, he gave some directions to the driver, 
 who, cracking his whip, drove off in haste. 
 
 Wesley gazed after him for some moments, with a crest- 
 , fallen countenance ; then muttering something in a low 
 tone, he ascended the steps and rung the bell. Inquiring 
 for Mr. Morton, he was shown into the library,*where he 
 remained in eager conference with the lawyer for more 
 than half an hour, when both came forth together, and the 
 latter, ordering his carriage, rode swiftly away, while the 
 other sauntered off leisurely in a mood of deep abstrac- 
 tion. 
 
 Meantime Dudley and his companions reached the po- 
 lice-court, just as Acton was brought forward for examina- 
 tion. His features were very pale and somewhat haggard, 
 as though he had experienced a 'restless night of mental 
 torture. As Dudley entered the court room, in advance 
 of Virginia and Edith, Acton gave him a look of hate and 
 malicious defiance ; but perceiving the next moment who 
 followed, his features crimsoned to his forehead, his coun- 
 tenance fell, and he finally hung his head in very shame. 
 And well he might ! to behold his own cousin, whom he 
 had so shamefully abused, in company with her to whom 
 he had paid his addresses, before whom he would have ap- 
 peared the most honorable of his sex, and to whose hand 
 he had already boasted of having a claim, much to the an- 
 noyance of at least a score of discomfited suitors. It was 
 a punishment far beyond that of any prison, to be so ex-w 
 posed at such a time ; and could he have had his wish at 
 that Tnomont, the .stone walls of the mighty fabric bononth
 
 
 THE EXAMINATION. 223 
 
 which he stood, would have crumbled to pieces and buried 
 him under their ruins. 
 
 " Well, sir ! what is your name ?" said the sharp, clear, 
 stern voice of the Recorder. 
 
 "Acton Atherton." 
 
 ur occupation, sir ?" 
 
 gentleman at large," replied Acton, somewhat 
 pompously, thinking such a course would best cover the 
 disgrace he felt in being so arraigned and questioned. 
 
 " Umph ! hardly at large now," rejoined the other, 
 dryly. frWell, sir, what brought you here ?" 
 
 "My legs." 
 
 " Ha ! sir, you are impudent ! Have a care, young 
 man, or I will commit you for contempt of court. Has 
 any one present a charge to prefer against Acton Ather- 
 ton?" he asked, looking around. 
 
 " So please your Honor, I have," answered Dudley, 
 stepping forward. 
 
 " Well, sir, your name, residence, and occupation ?" 
 
 Dudley drew close to the bench, and gave satisfactory 
 replies, in a low tone. He was then sworn and told to 
 proceed with his accusation ; which he did stating clearly 
 and concisely under what circumstances he had found the 
 prisoner. Virginia being next called upon and put under 
 oath, told her own story briefly, confirming the words of 
 Dudley. The Recorder mused a moment, and then said : 
 
 " As the lady went willingly, I do not think I can find 
 this a criminal oflence, although one worthy of the severest 
 censure." 
 
 " So please your Honor," returned Dudley, " I do 
 accuse Acton Atherton of detaining Virginia Courtly 
 against her will." 
 
 " Ha !" rejoined the magistrate ; "is this so? Wero 
 you so detained, Miss Courtly ?"
 
 224 THE FORGED TTILL. 
 
 " I was." 
 
 " This alters the case materially. Have you proof of 
 this ?" 
 
 " One Ellen Douglas was a witnesa^o it." 
 
 " Let Ellen Douglas come forward." 
 
 "I beg leave to say, your Honor," spoke up D^ttey 
 again, " she is too ill to attend court. I have seiner 
 this morning, and she is unable to quit her apartment. 
 But if your Honor like, her deposition can be taken." 
 
 "It is scarcely necessary at this examination, unless 
 the prisoner desires it. Let the officers who arrested Acton 
 Atherton stand forward, and state what they know of this 
 affair. 
 
 The watchmen appeared, and being sworn, gave in their 
 evidence, which, so far as it went, corroborated what had 
 gone before. The Recorder mussed again a short time, 
 and then said, addressing Acton : 
 
 " Mr. Atherton, as the matter stands, I shall be under 
 the necessity of binding you over to the next term of the 
 Court of Sessions. You will give bail in the sum 'of one 
 thousand dollars, or be remanded to prison." 
 
 At this moment the father of the accused came rushing 
 into the court-room, much excited ; and glancing from one 
 to another, with an expression of mortification and dismay, 
 mingled with a look of defiance as his eye fell upon Dudley, 
 he exclaimed, in a hasty, pompous tone : 
 
 " What is this ? what is this ?" 
 
 " Silence, sir !" cried the Recorder, frowning. " Is there 
 any one present who will go bail for Acton Atherton?" 
 
 "I will," said his father; and inquiring the amount, he 
 proceeded to give bonds for his son's appearance at the 
 proper time and place. 
 
 Acton was now at liberty; and bestowing a glance of 
 hate upon Dudley, who returned his look with perfect com-
 
 THE EXAMINATION. 225 
 
 posure, he hurried from the court-room without speaking 
 a word. 
 
 " This is your doing, sirrah ?" said Atherton, coming 
 close to Dudley, and fairly hissing the words in his ear. 
 " Do not flatter yourself I will easily forget it." 
 
 " Rather say your own doing, in teaching your son so 
 little of the character of a gentleman," replied Dudley, 
 calmly, but haughtily. "As to your forgetting or remem- 
 bering, both are alike immaterial to me;" and turning 
 his back on the other, he coolly walked away. 
 
 Atherton glared after him with a look in which all his 
 worst passions seemed blended. Then turning, his eye 
 fell upon Edith, and his whole manner and appearance 
 changed, from that of a fiend incarnate, to an humble obse- 
 quious, affable, smiling gentleman. 
 
 "How fares my fair Edith this morning?" he said, 
 bowing politely, and speaking in his blandest tones : " and 
 how is her good father?" 
 
 " We are usually well, I thank you," Edith answered, 
 somewhat coldly. 
 
 " This is a very painful affair to a fond father's feelings," 
 he pursued, in a low tone " this youthful folly and indis- 
 cretion of Acton. I grieve sorely that my son should have 
 been tempted to such imprudence, by one in whom I had 
 placed the utmost confidence. You must bear in mind, my 
 dear Edith, that it was not a scheme of his own planning, 
 and that he was drawn into it by the machinations of 
 another. But it has taught him a painful lesson, which he 
 will never forget. He already regrets it as much as 
 myself; and you may rest assured, on the word of a father, 
 he will never be guilty of the like again." 
 
 " I trust not," rejoined Edith. 
 
 " It rejoices me, sweet Edith, to see you take sufficient 
 -st in him to be present at his examination. There/' he 
 19*
 
 226 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 added, as, coloring deeply, she was about to reply : " There, 
 there I see no excuse : I will spare your blushes. But who 
 is this pretty companion of yours?" and he glanced towards 
 Virginia, who, on his addressing Edith in a low tone, had 
 modestly withdrawn out of ear-shot, and now stood regarding 
 him, with heightened color, and an expression in which 
 maidenly timidity, sadness and curiosity were strangely 
 mingled. "I have rarely seen a more lovely counte- 
 nance." 
 
 " Or a sweeter owner," rejoined Edith. " Shall I intro- 
 troduce you?" 
 
 " 0, with pleasure, Miss Edith." 
 
 There was a smile of triumph on the features of the 
 latter, as she advanced to her companion, and, taking her 
 by the hand, said : 
 
 "Miss Virginia Courtly, allow me to present you to 
 your uncle, Mr. Oliver Atherton, the father of Acton, who 
 had the kindness, no later than last night, to steal you 
 away by treacherous arts, and basely misuse your con- 
 fidence." 
 
 Had an earthquake at that moment shook the Tombs to 
 ruins, it would have added nothing to the astonishment 
 and dismay of Oliver Atherton. As Edith began to speak, 
 he was just in the act of bending forward, with a smile on 
 his hypocritical features, and his hand partly extended to 
 greet his new acquaintance ; but as her first words caught 
 his ear, he started back, his whole countenance changed, 
 became as pale as death, and then as quickly flushed with 
 bewildered confusion. For a moment he stood regarding 
 her as one spell-bound; and then muttering a low, deep 
 oath of disappointment, turned on his heel and rushed 
 from the court-room. 
 
 " Let the prisoner, Edgar Courtly, be brought forward 
 for examination," said the sharp, clear voice of the
 
 . THE EXAMINATION. 227 
 
 Recorder at this moment ; and both Virginia and Edith 
 became very pale and tremulous as they heard the words. 
 
 " Give yourselves no alarm, my friends," said Dudley, 
 instantly joining the maidens ; " for Edgar Courtly, believe 
 me, will come off triumphant." 
 
 As he spoke, Calvin Morton entered the court-room and 
 advanced to the party with hasty steps. 
 
 " Heaven save us all !" he exclaimed : " I trust I am not 
 too late !" 
 
 " Just in time for the examination of Edgar," replied 
 Dudley, " but too late to witness the discomfiture of his 
 uncle." 
 
 " Ha ! yes I met him coming down the steps," rejoined 
 Morton ; " and, from his manner, I almost fancied him 
 insane. What has happened ?" 
 
 Edith hastened to explain. 
 
 " Well, he will be worse confounded and discomfitted 
 than this ere long," replied her father, " or I am very much 
 mistaken. I have him now," he pursued, with sparkling 
 eyes : " I have him now, the hypocritical villain ! Virginia, 
 you shall have justice!" 
 
 At this moment Edgar Courtly entered the court-room, 
 attended by an officer, and all eyes eagerly turned upon 
 him. He was very pale, and evidently much excited ; but 
 there was the proud look of conscious innocence on his 
 noble countenance, and his head was erect, and his step 
 firm and bold. On seeing him, for a moment Virginia 
 half supported herself against the agitated Edith, and the 
 next could hardly resist the impulse to rush forward and 
 throw herself into his arms. As Edgar beheld his friends, 
 his features lighted with a look of joy and hope, and his 
 feelings became powerfully excited. Subduing them as 
 much as possible, he made a cheerful bow of recognition to 
 each ; but the warm, tell-tale blood deeply crimsoned his
 
 228 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 fine, manly features, as he encountered the soft, gray eye 
 of the lovely Edith fixed upon him, with an expression of 
 sympathetic tenderness ; while a close observer might have 
 seen that her own fair countenance brightened with an 
 unwonted glow. 
 
 "Remain where you are for the present," said Morton 
 to his daughter and Virginia ; and advancing with Dudley 
 to Edgar, each shook his hand warmly, and bade him be 
 of good cheer. 
 
 "Edgar Courtly," said the Recorder, glancing over a 
 paper in his hand, "I perceive you are arrested at the 
 instance of Oliver Atherton, on the accusation of forgery. 
 Let the prosecutor stand forth." 
 
 " He is not present, your Honor," replied Dudley. 
 
 " If there is any one here who has the charge of forgery 
 to prefer against the prisoner, Edgar Courtly, let him or 
 her stand forth !" 
 
 Not a soul moved. The Recorder repeated his words. 
 Still no one stirred, and the silence was so deep you could 
 have heard the fall of a pin. 
 
 " Once more, and for the last time," said the magistrate, 
 as he again repeated his words. Then finding the result 
 the same as before, he added, hastily : " Our time is too 
 valuable to be trifled with. Mr. Courtly, you are dis- 
 charged." 
 
 Scarcely was the last sentence uttered, when, with a cry of 
 joy, Virginia sprung forward, and was caught in the arms 
 of her brother, and their tears of happiness mingled. 
 Then Edgar received the congratulations of his true friends 
 but heard nothing that thrilled more sweelty to his very 
 soul, to be treasured there as " a joy forever," than the 
 simple sentence uttered by Edith, as, her delicate hand 
 locked in his, she fixed her mild, gray eyes tenderly upon him, 
 -,. t id, earnestly:
 
 THE EXAMINATION '229 
 
 " I knew I knew you were innocent !" 
 
 "Come," said Morton, "this is no place for us. Our 
 carriages wait below. Edgar, you shall with me and Edith. 
 Cla Dudley I mean we will trust Virginia to your gal- 
 lantry. Sorry to part brother and sister at such an 
 interesting time but can't help it. I have something 
 important to tell you all but not until we reach home." 
 
 No one of course objected to an arrangement so conso- 
 nant to the feelings of each ; and Edgar, offering his arm 
 to Edith, while Dudley did the same to Virginia preceded 
 by Morton, who jocularly remarked he was one too many 
 the whole party quitted the Tombs, and descended the 
 long flight of stone steps with very different feelings from 
 what they had experienced in making their ascent. 
 
 "Yonder," spoke Edith, in a low tone, pointing down 
 before her, slightly shuddering, and pressing closer to the 
 side of Edgar : " Yonder is the spot where you saved my 
 life." 
 
 " The happiest act I ever performed," was the low, 
 earnest reply. 
 
 Entering the splendid vehicles which stood in waiting, 
 each party signed the other a cheerful adieu ; and then off 
 went the horses at a gay, proud trot, as if conscious they 
 bore away lighter hearts than they had brought hither. 
 
 The ride was not long, it is true ; but four of the com- 
 pany fancied it the most delightful they had ever expe- 
 rienced.
 
 CHAPTER XX. i 
 
 THE DAMNING DEED. 
 
 THE communication which Morton had to make, was on* 
 of great importance to Edgar and all interested in his wel- 
 fare, and was the result of his interview with the treacher 
 ous Nathan Wesley. What this communication was, it is 
 not our. purpose here to reveal ; suffice, that it altered Ed- 
 gar's previous arrangement of taking up law as a profession. 
 
 A week rolled away, and both Edgar and Virginia re- 
 mained the honored guests of the Mortons. Dudley was a 
 daily visitor, and always found a cordial welcome ; but 
 from none a more heart-felt one, perhaps, than from Vir- 
 ginia. In company with him, her brother and Edith, she 
 took daily rides or strolls through the city, and appeared 
 to enjoy herself as much as it was possible for one who#had 
 so recently been bereaved of an affectionate and beloved 
 parent. But with herself and brother, the sad thought of 
 their poor mother would intrude itself upon them in their 
 happiest moments, and cloud the sunshine that otherwise 
 had lain upon their hearts. 
 
 But leaving those who form the bright parts in this 
 our picture of lifej we must return to Acton Atherton. We 
 have said that one of his strongest passions was that of 
 vanity ; and never had this received so powerful a shock as 
 at his examination, when he was not only confronted with 
 his cousin, whom he had so basely treated, but also with 
 one in whose eyes he would have stood a paragon of virtue : 
 and who, as he now saw, being the companion of the other, 
 must necessarily know much of his dissolute and even guilty 
 (230)
 
 THE DAMNING DEED. 231 
 
 career. As soon as bonds had been entered into for his 
 appearance, he quitted the Tombs, feeling himself abashed, 
 humiliated and disgraced. With a clouded brow and hur- 
 ried pace, he made his way homeward, plotting in his own 
 dark mind what steps to take to make even a .show of main- 
 taining his honor, by retaliation on those who had beentho 
 means of exposing him. That Wesley had played a double 
 game, he felt well convinced ; and his design was to seek 
 him out first, upbraid him with treachery, and should his 
 suspicions prove correct, let his mode of revenge be the re- 
 sult of succeeding circumstances. 
 
 As chance would have it, he met Wesley on the steps of 
 his father's mansion both having arrived from opposite 
 directions at the same moment and seizing him by the 
 collar, he accused him at once of having betrayed him, and 
 threatened his life on the spot should he dare to deny it. 
 But notwithstanding this, Wesley did deny it, with all the 
 brazen effrontery of which an accomplished villain like him- 
 self was capable. He did more. He not only denied hav- 
 ing given even a hint of the matter to a living soul, but he 
 openly accused Clarence Malcolm of being the cause ; and 
 said that he had, by some unaccountable means, played the 
 spy upon them overheard, he presumed, their secret con- 
 ference had been and warned Ellen Douglasj and then had 
 laid in wait to entrap them ; and wound up by swearing 
 roundly, that going to Mott street to see how the affair 
 would terminate and be at hand, in case he (Acton) needed 
 help, he had been chased by the watch, set on by Clarence, 
 and had barely escaped a night's imprisonment by out- 
 running them. 
 
 To this story of course Acton did not give full credence 
 knowing the matchless ability of the attorney to forge a 
 truth-like lie on any and all occasions where it suited his 
 humor or purpose but as he had no evidence to combat it, he
 
 232 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 was obliged to let it pass current ; besides, his anger now 
 having a more worthy and important subject on which to 
 vent itself, he concentrated his whole soul upon devising 
 means to punish the principal aggressor. 
 
 " This hated Malcolm," he said, bitterly " how shall I 
 revenge myself on him for his insults ?" 
 
 " Challenge him," suggested Wesley, who, whatever 
 might be the result, fancied Acton would get the worst of 
 it, or at least become deeper sunk than ever in the mire in 
 which he was already floundering. 
 
 " Ay, that is it !" cried Acton. " Challenge him I will, 
 and you shall be my second, Wesley !" 
 
 And challenge him Acton accordingly did ; but his a*n- 
 swer was what might have been expected from one of Clar- 
 ence Malcolm's upright, fearless, noble nature ; and should 
 serve as a model for all such as, placed in similar circum- 
 stances, have the manly courage to do right, without re- 
 gard to the opinions of a few empty-headed coxcombs, 
 whose sole valor consists in fighting bravely, in imagina- 
 tion, before a parterre of sentimental ladies. 
 
 The note ran thus. 
 
 "SiR: I regret you have made it a necessity for me to 
 inform you I am not the hot-brained, mad-cap fool you take 
 me for. That I neither love nor fear you, you may rest 
 assured ; and also, that when I require a target to shoot 
 at, I shall not gratify your false vanity by selecting your 
 person therefor, and thus exalting you in your own estima- 
 tion to the dignified position of a hero. Our correspon- 
 dence ceases here. All letters sent by you, henceforth, 
 will be returned with unbroken seals. 
 
 " CLARENCE MALCOLM, 
 
 " Of Malcolm Place." 
 "To ACTON ATHERTON, 
 
 "Of No, , Street."
 
 THE DAMNING DEED. 233 
 
 This was severely cutting to Acton, and so he felt it, and 
 swore he would have revenge ; and had the parties soon 
 met, doubtless something serious would have been the con- 
 sequence ; but as it was, some two or three days' reflection 
 served to dampen the ardor of the challenger for an encoun- 
 ter with one from whom he could only reasonably expect 
 to come off second best. In fact, the whole nature of 
 Acton seemed to have undergone a remarkable change, 
 even in this short period. From a gay, dashing, rollick- 
 ing, piquant fellow, he had suddenly become morose, taci- 
 turn and gloomy, holding little communion with any thing 
 save his own thoughts. He strolled through the city as 
 usual, visited his old haunts of gambling and dissipation, 
 and often drank and played himself yet with such an ab- 
 stracted mood, such indifference as to success, and with so 
 much silence and reserve, that his old associates often ral- 
 lied him upon his gravity, and swore he must have the oc- 
 cupation of a Methodist parson in serious contemplation. 
 But their jests and jeers moved him not, their remarks on 
 his changed appearance fell unheeded, and their questions 
 remained unanswered. 
 
 Thus matters continued for a week, without showing any 
 visible change in Acton after the first two days, though 
 both his father and sister strove to break his gloomy de- 
 pression of spirits the former by agreeing to see him safely 
 over the coming trial, only cautioning him to be more pru- 
 dent hereafter and the latter by promising to overlook 
 the past, and endeavoring, as much as lay in her power, 
 to remove the disgrace he had put upon the family, and 
 set him right again with Edith. 
 
 In truth, Arabella loved her brother ^ith a strong sis- 
 terly affection perhaps from his nature being so different 
 from her own perhaps from a natural yearning of the 
 heart for something to cling to and entwine itself around, 
 20
 
 234 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 as the vine does around the tree its supporter and rarely 
 to him displayed that haughty pride she did towards almost 
 every other. But pride, as we have said elsewhere, was 
 her ruling passion ; and setting this aside, Arabella had 
 fewer faults than many of her sex who have been upheld 
 as models of perfection. , With her, unlike her father, 
 there was no duplicity no artifice, to make herself appear 
 better than she was no masking for the occasion ; but all 
 was plain, straight-forward, frank and artless ; and if she 
 was not at all times courteous, she was at least ever 
 honest in the expression of her opinions and sentiments. 
 There was a wide difference- between her pride and the 
 coxcomb-vanity of her brother ; for where hers ennobled, 
 his debased ; where hers made dignity, his excited ridicule ; 
 where hers upheld truth and honor, his gloried in craft and 
 deceit ; where hers required the inner sanctuary of her 
 heart to be pure in the sight of Heaven, his only wanted 
 the outward person to be attractive in the eyes of the 
 world ; in short, where hers applauded and sustained true 
 virtue, his revelled and sunk in vice. Arabella was proud, 
 and Acton was vain, and we have drawn the distinction as 
 we understand it. 
 
 And to do Arabella justice, we must say she was, for 
 the most part, right at heart, and would not intentionally 
 do a wrong action. Though she might be led into error in 
 the heat of passion, she would sincerely regret it in moments 
 of cool reflection ; and, if possible to do so, without wounding 
 her haughty pride, would ever make the proper repa- 
 ration. When she so scornfully told Clarence his state- 
 ment concerning her father's ill-treatment of his kins- 
 people was false-Vthat it was a base, willful, malignant 
 slander she believed she spoke the truth : not that she 
 thought him seeking to deceive her, but that he himself 
 had been deceived The assertion of the Courtlys being
 
 THE DAMNING DEED. 235 
 
 in town at all, was as much as she could credit ; and it was 
 not until the exposure of Acton's abduction Of Virginia, 
 and the knowledge of Edgar's arrest at the instance of her 
 father, the news of which fell upon her like a thunderbolt, 
 that she began to admit to herself there might be some 
 truth in Malcolm's report, and some concealed wrong which 
 reflected severely on her father. Then, had there been an 
 opportunity to make Clarence reparation, without too much 
 humiliation, she would have embraced it, and recalled her 
 hasty expressions. She would also have flown to Virginia, 
 and stood her friend and protector, only that she knew she 
 was now safe from further insult, and felt how humiliating 
 would be the result to herself, in case her motives should 
 not be properly understood and appreciated. 
 
 But to return to Acton. 
 
 A week passed away, and found him, as we have said, a 
 constant visiter of the gambling hells and houses of dissi- 
 pation. The reform, so greatly needed, was still as much 
 wanting as ever. He was changed, but not for the better ; 
 for at heart the demon of his nature was silently doing his 
 work, and gradually leading him on to that fatal step in 
 his already guilty career, which was destined to plunge him 
 down, down far down into the dark gulf of lasting shame 
 and endless remorse. 
 
 Throughout the day preceding the night when we again 
 introduce him, he had seemed much disturbed in mind, and 
 had dfank very freely so much so, that at an early hour 
 in the evening, he had quitted one of the many drinking 
 saloons with which Broadway abounded, with an uncertain 
 step. It was a clear, cold, star-light night ; and reeling 
 against a lamp-post, he paused and cast his eyes upward 
 to the shining host, as if in serious meditation upon the 
 thousands of distant worlds thus revealed to his unsteady 
 gaze. But he mused not on them for dark and gloomy
 
 236 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 thoughts were flitting through a brain made feverish by 
 the cursed Cup, which contains ruin, insanity, and death ! 
 At this moment two persons passed in eager conversation, 
 and the mention of his own name arrested his attention. 
 
 " An unpleasant fix, surely," said one, " to run off with 
 his own cousin, and get so cozened himself. They say it 
 was all a contrived plan to get him into an ugly scrape, 
 and that Ellen was at the bottom of it all. She had sworn 
 to have revenge on him, by making an exposure, and took 
 this means to do it. .By my faith, I should little like to 
 be caught the same way, and have all my love intrigues 
 made known to the girl whom I was about to marry !" 
 
 "And I suppose Miss Morton rejects him ?" 
 
 " Of course, and that is why he looks so disconsolate. 
 Poor fellow ! ha, ha, ha ! By my faith, I should think it 
 would teach him a little prudence in his amours hereafter!" 
 
 "But do you think Ellen will appear against him?" 
 
 Think so ? I know it. Do you think she would let such 
 an opportunity slip ? Not she. She will send him to 
 Sing-Sing, if her evidence is sufficient to do so." 
 
 " No, by ! she won't !" swore Acton, deeply, as the 
 
 voice of the speaker now died away in the distance. fK3o ! 
 I am the laughing stock of the town, as I expec^lr And 
 this is her triumph ! By my soul, it shall be a short one !" 
 and somewhat sobered by the cold air, and the rousing of 
 his worst passions, he drew his cloak which had partly 
 fallen from his shoulders, around him, and, turning into a 
 by-street, disappeared. 
 
 Half an hour later, a person so closely muffled in a cloak that 
 only his eyes were visible, rapped at the door of Madame 
 Costellan's. To the woman who answered his summons 
 for admittance, he handed an English crown, and requested 
 permission to enter unquestioned. The temptation was 
 strong ; aucl after looking at him intently for a moment,
 
 THE DAMNING DEED. 
 
 the other gave a knowing wink and threw open the door. 
 The stranger passed in, and with a hurried step ascended 
 to the next story ; where, finding the door of Ellen's apart- 
 ment ajar, he entered without knocking, and immediately 
 closed, locked it, and withdrew the key. Then glancing 
 around the apartment, with a nervous, eager look, and 
 seeing no one present, the figure moved stealthily to the 
 door at the right, which communicated with an elegant bed- 
 chamber of suitable dimensions, and pushing it slightly 
 open, reconnoitered the ground before proceeding farther. 
 Satisfied, apparently, that all was right, he swung the door 
 back with some foree, and walked in with a bold deter- 
 mined air. 
 
 This apartment was furnished in keeping with the larger 
 one, with a splendid wardrobe, toilet-table, dressing-chair, 
 bed, &c., on the last of which, her pale, thin features partly 
 revealed by the dim light which stood on the center-table, 
 reposed Ellen Douglas, now sleeping that feverish sleep 
 which is often the result of mental anguish and bodily 
 ailment, and all unconscious who stood by her side, gazing 
 upon her with a darkened brow and lips compressed. The 
 slurnberer was evidently dreaming of that eventful period 
 when aW^Kr fresh and tender passions were called into 
 action, ere her now guilty soul had trod the dark paths of 
 sin and misery when she was beautiful in innocence the 
 gayest of the gay and the happiest of the happy for she 
 murmured, in tender, pleading, touching accents : 
 
 " Nay, mother, you wrong him by such suspicions ! I 
 tell you he is all that is noble and manly ; and 0, mother, 
 I love him ! See ! see ! what a beautiful present he has 
 given me, mother ! It is a massive diamond ring and it 
 is to be our wedding ring. 0, mother, he is so rich, so 
 handsome, and he loves me so ! Nay, now, you shall not 
 thide me ! I tell you my Acton is all that is noble, honor- 
 20*
 
 238 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 able and generous, and I will not listen to aught said 
 against him!" 
 
 On hearing these words, the intruder, who still remained 
 muffled in his cloak, became violently agitated ; and sinking 
 upon a seat, bowed his face forward upon his hands and 
 groaned. The groan started Ellen, without awaking her 
 to consciousness, and apparently changed the current of 
 her thoughts; for the next moment she turned over quickly, 
 partly sprung up in bed, and pointing with her finger, as 
 chance would have it, toward the figure in the cloak, 
 exclaimed, vehemently: 
 
 " There ! there ! do you not see him there ? the base vil- 
 lain the monster the devil incarnate ! I tell you beware 
 of him ! for his sight is poison his touch the Seal of 
 death ! Avaunt, thou fiend in human shape ! avaunt ! 
 No, no, girl," she continued hurriedly, " he shall not harm 
 you ! Me he has ruined, but you he shall not harm ! No, 
 sweet Virginia, you are safe, and he shall suffer for his 
 baseness, so sure as there is a God of Justice ! What! 
 your cousin ? Heavens ! how strange ! Ha ! you want 
 proof, eh ? proof ? Well, I am ill now, but as soon as 
 able I will appear against him." 
 
 "Never!" cried the intruder, springing to his feet with 
 an oath, letting the cloak fall, and disclosing the features 
 of Acton, now frightfully distorted with angry passions. 
 "Never!" he fairly shouted, drawing a dagger from his 
 bosom. " By all my hopes of security, there shall be one 
 witness the less !" 
 
 His voice awoke Ellen to a full consciousness, and 
 beholding him in an attitude so menacing, she sunk back 
 upon her pillow with a cry of alarm. For a moment she 
 regarded him with a peculiar look, in which various pas- 
 sions mingled, and then said in a calm, deep tone :
 
 THE DAMNING DEED. 239 
 
 " What do you here Acton Atherton ? Will you not 
 allow me to die in peace ?" 
 
 "No !" cried Acton, fiercely ; "you do not deserve such 
 a death !" 
 
 " Monster ! begone ! or you will drive me mad ; and 
 already I feel my poor hrain on the verge of chaos. Is it 
 not enough that you have ruined and brought me to this, 
 but you must now appear, Satan like, to gloat in triumph 
 above my dying bed ?" 
 
 "Prove to me," Acton rejoined, a dark gleam of malice 
 in his now fiery eyes : " prove to me, Ellen Douglas, that 
 it is your dying bed, and you shall see my face no more !" 
 
 " And this is he whom I have so loved!" cried Ellen, 
 bursting into tears ; " for whom I have sacrificed earthly 
 reputation, and perilled my soul eternally ! Oh God ! oh 
 God ! the way of the transgressor is truly hard I" 
 
 " Tis false!" returned Acton; "you never loved me! 
 You thought to share my name and fortune, and played 
 your part to perfection but you never loved me !' 
 
 " As I hope for mercy beyond the grave," rejoined 
 Ellen, solemnly, " I loved you with a pure affection, and 
 only thought of your position'so far as it might exalt you 
 and make you happy." 
 
 " Then why did you turn against me in my hour of 
 trouble ?" 
 
 " I did not. It was you who plotted against me, to cast 
 me off forever, and put another in the place, which, in 
 God's sight, was truly mine. You had resolved to wed 
 Edith Morton !" 
 
 " And you to prevent it !" 
 
 "Yes, I resolved to prevent it, and trust I have." 
 
 " And this was your love ?" 
 
 " Surely so ; for if any one had a right to your hand it 
 TT&S I I who had sacrificed so much for you, and borne
 
 240 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 80 patiently with your many failings -and false vows. I 
 had a right to expect you would give me your hand, if 
 not your heart -"nay, even felt I had a right to demand it." 
 
 " And is it possible you could be so ignorant of the 
 world, as to suppose I would bestow my name upon one 
 who had disgraced her own ?" 
 
 "Villain !" cried Ellen, with all the vehemence her weak 
 state would allow, starting up in bed, her eyes flashing 
 fire, and her pale countenance disturbed by many contend- 
 ing passions : " why do you come here, at this time, to 
 taunt me with being the creature of your own devilish 
 arts ? If I disgraced my name, it was you who made me, 
 and on you the sin shall deeply recoil ! "Ay," she added, 
 with prophetic power, " it shall recoil upon you through 
 all time ! and the demon Remorse shall gnaw at your 
 heart's core, and, like the fabled Vampire of old, suck 
 your blood drop by drop ! and you shall curse the hour 
 that gave you existence ! Even now I see, in your pale, 
 haggard features, the first fruits of your guilty course. 
 Already you are a criminal in the eyes of the law, and are 
 meditating another deed of the darkest import ! Nay, 
 look not so fiercely upon me, Acton Atherton ! and clench 
 not your weapon with such a nervous grasp ! I can read 
 in your dark countenance that you came here for the worst 
 of purposes ! Strike, then, while the devil prompts, and 
 put the crowning act to your wickedness ! Think not I 
 fear you, or longer fear to die ! Better death than life 
 for one like me ! I cannot live disgraced, without hope. 
 See here ! I bare my breast to your gaze. Here is my 
 heart a heart that beat the truest love for you, until your 
 own unrighteous acts wrought a fearful change. Place 
 your steel here and drive it home ; and as you have been 
 the author of all my misery, be my delivering angel from a
 
 THE DAMNING DEED. 241 
 
 world of wo ! As with you my dark career began with 
 you let it end ! So may we part forever !" 
 
 The tone and manner of Ellen, as she said this, was 
 firm and decided. There was no tremor in her voice no 
 agitation apparent; and as she concluded, she again sunk 
 hack, and fixed her eyes, in which was a cold and seem- 
 ingly unearthly light, steadily upon his. Acton looked at 
 her fixedly a short time, and seemed undecided what 
 course to pursue. In truth, he began to doubt if she were 
 in her proper senses. At length he said : 
 
 " If you loved me, as you have so often affirmed, why 
 were you not always true to me ?" 
 
 " As God is my judge, Acton Atherton, and as I hope 
 for His mercy hereafter, I solemnly declare to you I have 
 ever been as loyal to you as if bound by the laws of man 
 in the holy covenant of wedlock !" 
 
 ' Then why did you plot with others against me ?" 
 
 " I never did. . I heard of your meditated design upon 
 a lovely creature, whom I would protect with my heart's 
 blood, and I determined to thwart it, and shame you into 
 repentance." 
 
 " And was the dragging of me to prison the proper way 
 to shame me into repentance ?" 
 
 " That was none of my planning, and took me as much 
 by surprise, as yourself." 
 
 " How went the report abroad, then, that it was all a 
 plot of your own to get revenge ?" 
 
 " Of that I know nothing." 
 
 " And why have you made it your boast that you will 
 appear against me at the coming trial ?" 
 
 " I have never so boasted." 
 
 "Perhaps you will have the face to deny that you ever 
 had an intention of so appearing." * 
 
 " No, you mistake. I shall deny no such thing. If I
 
 242 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 am summoned as a witness, and it is in my power to get 
 before the court, I shall be there, and give true evidence 
 of all I know concerning your infamous proceeding in that 
 affair of your cousin." 
 
 "And you dare tell me this to my face ?" cried Acton, 
 with a burst of indignation. 
 
 " Dare ?" echoed Ellen, with emphatic scorn : " why 
 talk to me of dare? I dare do right, if I have done 
 wrong ; and I would to God you had the same courage ! 
 But I have said enough. Go ! I am weak and ill. Go ! 
 your presence burdens my sight." 
 
 "Promise me you will not appear against ine, and I 
 will go," replied Acton. 
 
 " I will not promise. On that point I am resolved. 
 You have run too long a guilty course, and well deserve 
 some punishment." 
 
 " Look at me !" cried Acton, brandishing his dagger 
 aloft. " Look well ! I am a desperate man, Ellen ; and, 
 if goaded too far, would not stop short of a nameless 
 crime ! Now promise me, or " 
 
 "Never!" interrupted Ellen. "Acton Atherton, you 
 are a coward ; for none but a coward would steal in upon 
 a weak, defenceless woman, and with the air and language 
 of a common cut-throat, seek to awe her into silence, or 
 extort from her a promise against her will. Begone, sir ! 
 and never enter my presence again ! With the fierceness 
 of a tiger, you combine the courage of a mouse ! Begone, 
 sir ! or I will call for aid." 
 
 "It shall be your last call then !" cried Acton, foaming 
 with rage. " You have dared and maddened me beyond 
 myself. Take that!" 
 
 As he spoke, he spnaig forward, and, scarcely conscious 
 of \vliat lie did, struck a fell blow with his dagger. A 
 groan sounded in his ear. He started back, all
 
 THE DAMNING DEED. 243 
 
 aghast, and a cry of horror escaped his lips. He beheld 
 the white linen of the bed red with blood ! He looked 
 on his dagger, and saw its lustre dimmed with blood! 
 Upon his h|jid, and beheld it bloody also ! It was the 
 warm life-m^c^of her who had so loved him, and who had 
 sacrificed for him her own happiness ! He turned his 
 eyes upon her once more, and saw her already gasping in 
 the death struggle ! He strove to call her by name, but 
 he could not speak. He strove to rush to her, but he 
 could not move. He strove to shut the horrid sight from 
 his eyes, but they were rivetted there there, upon the 
 bloody work of his own hand ! Oh ! what an age of misery 
 of woful misery of hell itself was in that awful 
 moment. Blood upon the bed ; blood upon his dagger ; 
 blood upon the floor ; blood upon his hands ; all all was 
 blood ! an ocean of blood it seemed to the horror-stricken, 
 fear-stricken, conscience-stricken Acton Atherton. 
 
 " Great God !" burst at last from the lips of the mur- 
 derer: "Great God! what have I done! "VVo, misery, 
 remorse, and hell itself, are henceforth mine !" 
 
 "I forgive you," said a feeble, gurgling voice, the last 
 that ever passed the lips of the poor, ill-fated Ellen Doug- 
 lass. 
 
 " No ! no !" cried Acton wildly : " Not forgive ! Say 
 you curse me! curse me eternally forever for this 
 damnable deed !" 
 
 At this moment there came a loud knock at the outer 
 door of the house. It aroused the murderer to a sense of 
 his danger. He gave one hurried glance around, and 
 darted into the other apartment, the door of which he 
 unlocked in eager haste. From this there was a hall which 
 led to a window overlooking the back yard. He rushed to 
 this, threw it up frantically, and, all reckless of conse- 
 quences, leaped out. He struck the ground unharmed, and
 
 244 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 the next moment had cleared a high board fence and was 
 in a dark alley. He paused one moment to decide upon his 
 course. In that moment he heard an awful shriek the 
 first that told his crime was known. With a^npan, wrung 
 from his very soul, he turned and fled : fled^ frroi his crime, 
 from justice, from light : fled fast and far into the darkness 
 of the night : fled from all but himself, his conscience and 
 his God !
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE INQUEST. 
 
 IT was between eight and nine o'clock in the evening, 
 that Edgar and Dudley, arm-in-arm, were strolling up 
 Park Row towards Chatham street, in close conversation. 
 
 " And could you not prevail on her?" asked Dudley, in 
 connection with something that had gone before. 
 
 " No," replied Edgar. " She said she could not bear 
 the thought of mingling again with those, who, having no 
 stain upon their characters, would withdraw from her their 
 countenance, and point at her the finger of scorn." 
 
 "But she should go where she is not known." 
 
 " So I said to her, but to no effect she contending, that 
 to feel her own degradation in such society, would be more 
 than she could bear, and for which even death would be a 
 glad substitute." 
 
 " Poor girl ! from my soul I pity her. Such a noble, 
 generous nature, to come to such disgrace and degradation ! 
 What should be done with the villain that so wrongs a 
 woman, Edgar ?" 
 
 " He should serve out the remainder of his days between 
 the four walls of a prison." 
 
 " So think I ; for I look upon it as one of the worst of 
 crimes one of the grossest outrages of which a man can 
 be guilty. And yet the law, Edgar, laughs to scorn our 
 opinion, and holds the seducer innocent. Society, too, 
 gives its sanction to the foul deed ; and the pampered vil- 
 lain goes boldly through the world, in a gay, dissolute 
 21 (245)
 
 246 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 career, strewing his path with blasted names, broken hearts 
 and ruined souls. We make laws for the poor, Edgar 
 for those, who, born in wretchedness, without hope above 
 their birth, can, at the best, but eke out a miserable exis- 
 tence. We make laws for them, and we press them closely 
 execute them with a diligence, eagerness and fidelity 
 worthy a better cause. For them we make no allowance 
 they being supposed to inherit immaculate virtue from 
 which if they fall, they fall as Satan did from Heaven, 
 without any temptation but their own evil passions. Born 
 in degradation schooled in vice and misery debarred all 
 the exalted enjoyments of learning and knowledge scorned, 
 oppressed and down-trodden by those, who, clothed in 
 broadcloths and silks, bow their souls to the shrine of Mam- 
 mom, the while their knees press the richly carpeted floor 
 of God's holy church they are still supposed to know all 
 the technicalities of the law to be above all the vices and 
 errors of mankind to be, in short, the noble instruments 
 whereby to exhibit the majesty, justice and righteousness 
 of man's civil code : for let one suffer never so much, the 
 law says it is right ; let one starve himself, and see his poor 
 family his dear wife and little ones begging and dying for 
 the bread which he has not to give and the law says it is 
 right ; but let him, driven to desperation, maddened with 
 famine and mental anguish let him take so much as a 
 handful of meal to protect his life and the lives of those 
 dearer to him than his own and then the majesty, and 
 justice, and righteousness of the law says it is all wrong ; 
 that it is a heineous crime against community ; and forthwith 
 the offender is seized, and dragged to prison, tried, convicted, 
 and sent away, a condemned criminal, to serve out his term 
 in a sink of hell's own vice ; while his family starve, and 
 die, and turn to dust, for the proud, the arogant, the pam- 
 pered, the courted, the flattered, the almost lordly robber of
 
 THE INQUEST. 247 
 
 female virtue to trample on with scorn ! Oh most truly 
 is there 
 
 " ' Something rotten in Denmark.' " 
 
 "You draw a strong picture," replied Edgar; "and 
 deeply I regret I cannot gainsay its truthfulness. But the 
 world is daily progressing to a better state ; and though we 
 may not live to see it, the time will surely come, when man 
 can live without taking what is not his own ; and when the 
 act, we both so heartily condemn, will become a crime in 
 the eyes of the law, with a penalty attached commensurate 
 to its wickedness."* 
 
 Conversing thus, the two friends entered Chatham street ; 
 and continuing their course till they came to Mott street, 
 they turned down the latter to visit the unfortunate Ellen 
 Edgar with a view to cancel the debt he owed her ; and 
 also, if possible, to prevail upon her to leave her present 
 abode and retire forever from criminal associations. 
 
 " What wretchedness exists on every hand !" said the 
 latter, as slowly the two friends pursued their way along the 
 narrow, squallid, and dimly lighted street. " And yet," 
 he added, with a sigh, " it is but a few days since my poor 
 mother, my sister and myself were inhabitants of this 
 gloomy region." 
 
 "Oh, how you must have suffered!" replied Dudley, 
 sympathetically. "I do not wonder your poor mother 
 died I only wonder you and your sister had nerve enough 
 to bear up against so dark a fate. To those born and bred 
 here who have never known nor ever expect any thing 
 better it is a paradise, compared to the misery you expe- 
 rienced, from its contrast to those days when almost 
 
 * Pennsylvania has already come out boldly, and made seduction a 
 criminal offence, punishable with heavy fine, and imprisonment ; and it 
 is the ardent desire of the humble writer of these pages, to see every 
 state in the Union fallow her noble example.
 
 248 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 boundless wealth was yours. But, thank God ! you have 
 met with a happy deliverance, and soon, I trust, will be 
 able to resume your proper station. There is an old adage, 
 that ' bought experience is the best, if we do not buy it 
 too dear ;' and your suffering here, may be of advantage to 
 you hereafter, by bringing home to you forcibly the neces- 
 sities of the poor, which are too apt to be overlooked by 
 the wealthy. "What a field is every where open to the 
 opulent philanthropist, to give hope to the forlorn and 
 happiness to the wretched ; and how much more noble are 
 his labors in the sight of God how much more exalted 
 should he above his fellows than he who rides the hero of 
 an ensanguined field, and with his own arm carries death 
 before him makes the wife a widow, the child an orphan 
 and leaves mourning and lamentation to follow in his 
 train ! And when at last he is laid upon the bed of death, 
 and feels his life slowly but surely ebbing away knows 
 that his spirit is about to separate from its mortal tene- 
 ment, and take its flight to the eternal world, bearing with 
 it all the deeds, good and ill, it has done in the body 
 how cheering and refreshing, to turn his eyes back upon the 
 past, and behold the path, once full of thorns, that he has 
 strewn with flowers, and think that the blessings and pray- 
 ers of those he has rescued from destruction, will precede 
 him to the Mercy Seat of the Most. High and gain him 
 pardon for the minor errors of frail humanity ! 0, if the 
 rich did but know wherein lieth their true happiness, and 
 would but give heed thereto, thousands upon thousands 
 would be daily snatched from the dark haunts of misery, 
 vice and crime, and sent upon their way rejoicing the 
 world would be restored to its pristine happiness and the 
 glorious Millenium, foretold of old, and for which all good 
 Christians watch and pray, would truly come to make a 
 second Heaven on earth!"
 
 THE INQUEST. 249 
 
 " You arc most eloquent in a good cause, friend Dudley, 
 and I heartily concur in all the sentiments you have ad- 
 vanced ; and sincerely trust the time is not far distant, 
 when the philanthropist shall he considered the true hero 
 when nations shall settle their disputes by arbitration 
 instead of battle when the poor, oppressed, and down- 
 trodden wretches that now every where exist, shall no lon- 
 ger be found, but, in their stead, happy and intelligent 
 beings and lastly, when the warrior, as an object of anti- 
 quity, shall excite more wonder than admiration. But see ! 
 we have reached our destination. Yonder," added Ed- 
 gar, in a faltering voice, pointing across the street with an 
 unsteady hand, " Yonder it was, in that most wretched 
 hovel, surrounded with the dregs of misery, my poor sainted 
 mother took leave of all she held dear on earth !" 
 
 As he spoke, he turned away to hide his emotion, and 
 rapped loudly on the door of Madame Costellan's dwelling. 
 Almost immediately after, the rattling of chains and bolts 
 was heard ; and the door, as usual, opened but slightly 
 sustained in its position by a short, heavy chain, linking it 
 to tne casing, that the person within might have an oppor- 
 tunity of knowing the number and wants of those without 
 before admitting them and a female voice inquired who 
 they were , and what their business. Edgar replied by 
 giving his name, and stating that he had called with a 
 friend to see Ellen Douglass. 
 
 "I think she's got company," was the rejoinder; "but 
 I'll go and see ;" and closing the door behind her, the two 
 friends heard her hasty steps along the hall. 
 
 Scarcely a moment, as it seemed to them, elapsed after 
 this, ere they heard a piercing scream from the room above 
 their heads, followed immediately by another and another, 
 more wild and frightful still, and then by the noise of many 
 feet, as of others rushing to ascertain the cause of alafm. 
 21*
 
 250 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " Good heavens !" exclaimed Edgar ; "what can be the 
 meaning of this ?" 
 
 " Something frightful, I fear, has happened," replied his 
 companion. 
 
 Presently the two friends heard an agitated rattling of 
 the chains and holts at the door, and then it swung wide 
 open, and the same female who had first given Edgar ad- 
 mission, now stood before them, pale, bewildered and ter- 
 rified. 
 
 "What has happened?" cried Edgar, as he sprung 
 within. 
 
 "Oh God! sir," gasped the attendant, with a look of 
 horror, " poor poor Ellen Douglas !" 
 
 " Well, well what of her ?" 
 
 " She's been foully murdered !" 
 
 "Murdered?" fairly shouted Edgar. "Murdered? 
 Great God ! poor Ellen murdered ?" and he rushed up 
 stairs in frantic haste, followed by Dudley. 
 
 As they reached Ellen's apartment, they encountered 
 some half-a-dozen females, (among whom was Madame Cos- 
 tellan herself,) and two or three of the opposite sex, some 
 half frenzied, and all looking bewildered and terrified. 
 
 " Oh, gentlemen," cried Madame Costellan, rushing up 
 to Edgar and Dudley "such a terrible thing to happen in 
 my house ! Look there, for Heaven's sake ! oh, look 
 there !" and she pointed towards the inner chamber, and 
 hid her face in her hands. 
 
 Edgar and his friend sprung forward, and soon beheld 
 what froze their blood and sickened them with horror. 
 Upon the bed, bathed in her own heart's blood, which had 
 run down the snowy sheets and puddled on the floor, re- 
 posed the earthly remains of the beautiful Ellen beautiful 
 even in death with her fair hands, all stained with gore, 
 crossed on her bosom, as if to stanch the wound in her left
 
 THE INQUEST. 251 
 
 breast, and her features calm and composed, and almost 
 dazzling white, save where they were spotted here and there 
 with the red current of life. On the floor, all sanguine 
 from hilt to point, lay the fatal instrument used in this 
 hellish work ; and just beyond it a man's cloak, one slight 
 portion of which was dabbled in the blood of the owner's 
 victim. It was, all-in-all, a sight to pale the features and 
 move the heart of a stoic, and make the sensitive soul 
 sicken, shudder and recoil. 
 
 " Great God !" ejaculated Edgar, shutting the horrid 
 scene from his sight with his hands : " what a foul mur- 
 der ! Alas ! poor, erring, but noble-hearted Ellen Douglas 
 thy earthly misery is over now !" 
 
 " Who hath done this damnable deed ?" questioned Dud- 
 ley, turning to those who pressed hard behind him. " Who 
 was with the unfortunate deceased when this happened ?" 
 
 "As I hope for mercy, no one to my knowledge !" cried 
 Madame Costellan, in wild agitation. " Oh, gentlemen," she 
 continued, greatly alarmed for the consequences that might 
 ensue to herself and household should the affair become 
 public, and appealing to each and all " for Heaven's sake ! 
 do not let the report of this get abroad, or I shall be 
 ruined !" 
 
 " Peace, woman !" rejoined Dudley, sternly. " You 
 know not what you ask. As if we could be privy to a foul 
 murder, and suppress the tale ! Where is she who gave us 
 admittance ?" he continued, in a tone of authority. 
 
 " Here here I I am, sir," stammered the terrified 
 domestic, coming forward. 
 
 " Who was here with poor Ellen Douglas but a few 
 minutes since, of whom you spoke when we inquired for 
 her?" questioned Dudley. 
 
 " Why why sir I I " stammered the woman, 
 sinking upon her knees before Dudley, in an attitude of
 
 252 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 entreaty, as if she fancied he had the power to pardon or 
 condemn her : " I say 'pon my soul ! if it's the last 
 words I've got to utter I I didn't think any harm, I 
 didn't I " 
 
 " Up, woman, and answer my question, or you will be 
 suspected of having a hand in the murder yourself!" in- 
 terrupted Dudley, sharply. 
 
 "Well, sir well, sir " continued the other "a man 
 came to the door, and gave me this gold piece to let him in 
 and say nothing and I I did it ; but but without 
 thinking the least bit of harm 'pon my soul ! if it's the 
 last word " 
 
 " Who was the man ?" interrupted Dudley again. 
 
 " I couldn't see his face, sir, for the cloak which he held 
 round it ; but but by his eyes, sir, I guessed it it was 
 Acton Atherton." 
 
 Both Dudley and Edgar uttered exclamations of surprise 
 together, and gave each other a look expressive of more of 
 bewildered belief than doubt. 
 
 " Great Heaven !" groaned Edgar; " this is more terrible 
 still !" 
 
 " 0, you daring good-for-nothing !" cried Madame Cos- 
 tellan, now rushing forward to the still kneeling domestic, 
 and dealing her a blow on the head with her fist. " Out 
 of my house, and get you gone forever ! Oh, you have ru- 
 ined me ! you have ruined me !" 
 
 " Peace, woman !" commanded Dudley, damping his foot 
 on the floor. And then to the domestic : " Stir not from 
 here for your life ! You shall not be harmed. Let some 
 one hasten and summon the coroner immediately." 
 
 "I will go," said Edgar, darting through the crowd, 
 down the stairs and into the street, the door to which had 
 been left unfastened by the agitated and frightened servant. 
 
 In less than half an hour Edgar returned, bringing the
 
 THE INQUEST. 253 
 
 coroner and his jury, who at once proceeded to hold an in- 
 quest on the body of the murdered" Ellen Douglas. 
 
 It is unnecessary for us to enter into further particulars. 
 On examination, it was found that the steel, striking upon 
 one of her left ribs, had glanced and entered the heart of 
 poor Ellen in an oblique direction, thus speedily termi- 
 nating her existence. Each member of the ill-fated house 
 was then closely interrogated, as was also Edgar and 
 Dudley but from none save the domestic, who gave her 
 name as Sarah Farling, was there elicited any important 
 evidence. She having now become somewhat calm, being 
 assured by the coroner no harm could accrue to her, told 
 her story in a straight-forward manner ; and mainly from 
 her testimony, the jury, after a short consultation, returned 
 the verdict : 
 
 " That the deceased came to a violent death, by means 
 of a wound inflicted by a dagger, supposed to be in the 
 hands of Acton Atherton." 
 
 Ordering the remains of Ellen to be properly laid out 
 and prepared for interment, and securing the cloak and 
 dagger for further evidence, the coroner, after an exami- 
 nation of the premises, especially where the open window 
 showed the murderer had made his escape,, quitted the 
 house, accompanied by the jury, Edgar and Dudley. Pro- 
 ceeding to the nearest magistrate, a writ was sworn out 
 against Acton Atherton and placed in the hands of an 
 officer for his apprehension ; while the two friends bent 
 their steps homeward, with what feelings we leave the 
 reader to imagine.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 <* 
 
 THE GUILTY IN TROUBLE. 
 
 IT was far advanced toward midnight, and in her own 
 handsomely furnished apartment, with a book in her hand, 
 which she seemed intently perusing, sat Arabella Atherton. 
 The lamp, on a center-table by her side, was already 
 growing dim, and barely served to relieve the more obscure 
 portions of the chamber from utter darkness ; but, faint as 
 it was, its pale beams seemed to gain additional strength 
 as they fell upon the white, marble-like countenance of the ' 
 haughty beauty. At length Arabella paused in her 
 reading, let her book fall listlessly in her lap, and resting 
 her elbow on the table and her forehead in the hollow of 
 her hand, appeared to be absorbed in deep thought. While 
 thus occupied, she heard a gentle tap on the door; and 
 supposing it to be her waiting maid, she said : 
 
 " Come in !" 
 
 Her surprise was great, therefore, when, instead of the 
 person she expected, her brother entered and hurriedly 
 shut the door behind him. There was something frightful 
 in his look and manner ; for his features had assumed a 
 ghastly, almost livid hue his lips were ashy and tremu- 
 lous, though compressed his eyes strained, bloodshot and 
 rolling his step eager, stealthy, frightened and uncertain 
 his voice harsh, sepulchral and fearful as, advancing 
 toward her, he glared cautiously but wildly around, and 
 seizing her arm with a grip that drew from her an excla- 
 mation of pain, said : 
 (254)
 
 THE INQUEST. 255 
 
 " You are alone, sister ?" 
 
 " To be sure I am, Acton," she replied, starting to her 
 feet in alarm. " In Heaven's name ! what has happened, 
 to make you look and act thus, like one demented ?" 
 
 Acton did not reply ; but he gave her one awful look of 
 agony such an expression a,s one would expect to behold 
 on the faces of the damned and then staggering to a seat, 
 sunk down, buried his face in his hands, and uttered a 
 groan that seemed to wrench his very soul. 
 
 "Great God! what is the meaning of this?" cried 
 Arabella, greatly terrified. " Speak, Acton ! speak ! and 
 tell me what has happened?" 
 
 " The earth has become an ocean of blood !" groaned 
 rather than spoke her brother, with his face still hid in his 
 hands. 
 
 " Speak understandingly, or I shall doubt your sanity !" 
 
 " Do ! do !" shouted Acton, starting to his feet suddenly, 
 and revealing his face, now awfully distorted and haggard. 
 " Do doubt it, Arabella ! say I'm mad ! swear I'm mad ! 
 for I am mad mad as the maniacs men cage ! My 
 brain my poor brain burns with fire unquenchable my 
 eyes see blood and my ears ring with the words of mortal 
 forgiveness, and the curses of a conscience whose torments 
 shall be forever and ever !" 
 
 "Merciful God!" screamed Arabella : "his reason has 
 deserted him truly !" 
 
 And seizing the cord connecting with a bell in her 
 waiting-maid's room, she was about to ring, when Acton, 
 springing forward, grasped her hand, saying, in a low, 
 eager, emphatic tone : 
 
 " Call no one here, as you value your life !" 
 
 " What means this strange manner of yours ?" Arabella 
 now asked, in a clear, distinct, unfaltering tone, fixing her
 
 256 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 dark eyes steadily upon his, in the way she had understood 
 maniacs were the most completely subdued. 
 
 " It means," he groaned, " that I have a hell in my 
 breast, and a hell in my brain !" 
 
 " Speak ! I charge you, Acton ! what have you done ? 
 Ha ! see !" she added, almost wildly ; " there is blood upon 
 your hands ! Oh ! Acton, iny brother Acton, my brother 
 for the love of Heaven, relieve me of this suspense, and 
 say you have done no further crime !" 
 
 "Where do you see blood?" cried Acton, fiercely looking- 
 wildly upon his hands, which he turned over and over, 
 rubbing each hard against the other. " Where do you see 
 blood, Arabella ?" he continued, now holding them out for 
 her examination. 
 
 " I do not see it now it is gone," she replied. 
 
 " Ha ! ha !" he laughed hysterically ; " it is gone, is it ? 
 gone from your eyes, but not from mine : I see an ocean 
 of it!" 
 
 At this moment the street bell was rung violently, 
 accompanied by a heavy rap on the door. Acton heard it, 
 and for a moment stood as one petrified with horror. 
 Then bounding forward, he seized both the hands of Ara- 
 bella, pressed them hard, and cried piteously : 
 
 " Save me ! save me ! Quick ! quick ! dear Arabella 
 save me ! They come to drag me to prison !" 
 
 " You are guilty of some foul crime, then ?" gasped the 
 other. " That blood that blood " 
 
 And sick with horror, she could utter no more, but sunk 
 half fainting, upon a seat. 
 
 " Ha !" cried Acton ; " I hear voices. They are coming ; 
 they inquire for me. For the love of Heaven and eternal 
 mercy, tell me what I must do, Arabella!" 
 
 The latter started to her feet, gave her brother a strange, 
 peculiar look, in which shame, horror, fear, pity, pride and
 
 THE INQUEST. 257 
 
 resolution confusedly mingled the two last being the last 
 in ascendancy and then stamping her foot to make her 
 words impressive, exclaimed firmly : 
 
 " Be a man ! Seat yourself be calm and, if guilty, 
 let not your looks betray you ! Sit down ! there is a 
 book read !" 
 
 " They are coming," faltered Acton, as he tremblingly 
 complied with the instructions of his sister. 
 
 Arabella seated herself and listened. She heard steps 
 upon the stairs, and confused speaking. Presently she 
 could distinguish her father's voice in what seemed angry 
 expostulation. 
 
 " I tell you this is uncivil rudeness, to disturb my house 
 at this time of night, in this manner. Acton has, I 
 presume, been abed and asleep these two hours." 
 
 "We must do our duty, nevertheless," was the reply ; 
 " and the sooner we find him, the sooner we leave you. 
 Is this the room ?" 
 
 "No yonder this is my daughter's," replied Atherton. 
 
 "Go you to that, then," said the other, apparently 
 addressing a third person. " I see a light here and will 
 examine this ;" and as he spoke, there came a loud rap on 
 the door. 
 
 " Be calm !" whispered Arabella to her terrified and 
 half-distracted brother ; and rising, she walked boldly to 
 the door and threw it open. 
 
 ' I beg pardon !" said the officer, as he met the calm, 
 cold, haughty stare of Arabella ; " but I am seeking Acton 
 Atherton." 
 
 " Yonder he sits, sir," nodded Arabella, as if displeased 
 at so unceremonious an interruption. 
 
 "It is my unpleasant duty," said the officer, advancing 
 to the side of him he sought, and placing a hand on his
 
 258 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 shoulder, which fairly quivered at the touch, " to arrest 
 you for the crime of murder!" 
 
 "Murder !" screamed Arabella, staggering against the 
 wall, no longer able to mask her feelings. 
 
 " Murder !" echoed her father, clinging for support to 
 the casing of the door. " Oh God ! can this be so ?" he 
 groaned. " Oh, Acton, why do you not contradict it ? say 
 it is not true ?" 
 
 But Acton made no reply ; and the other officer enter- 
 ing at this moment, the two bade him come with them, as 
 they had no time for delay. Acton arose, partly reeled 
 forward, and then seeming to gather new courage, passed 
 out of the room without speaking. 
 
 As soon as he was out of sight, Atherton moved slowly 
 forward to a seat, where he sunk down with a groan of 
 mental anguish a groan wrung from the very soul of one 
 who had made others suffer the like without the slightest 
 compunctions of conscience. And oh ! what terrible 
 thoughts were now passing through the mind of this dark 
 man, loaded as he was with hidden crime, but who had thus 
 far appeared to the world at large as the true embodiment 
 of all that was noble and virtuous ! And what schemes of 
 proud ambition did he feel were now dashed to the earth 
 by one fell, annihilating blow ! His son in whom so 
 much of the pride, ambition and fondness of even a merce- 
 nary father centered to be dragged to prison, from his 
 own stately roof, and there tried like a common felon 
 perhaps be condemned and executed for a heinous crime, 
 which he tacitly acknowledged by not openly refuting ! 
 And then the disgrace the lasting disgrace that would 
 attach to even himself, as the father of a murderer! 
 Would not men shun, rather than court his company ? and, 
 with all his wealth to support his dignity, point him out as 
 an object move worthy of commisseration tlian emulation ?
 
 THE GUILTY IN TROUBLE. 259 
 
 And then that wealth the all he had to rely on that 
 wealtlwtffo basely gained, and which, by having supported 
 his son in a dissolute career of vice, was already bringing 
 upon him its own retribution ; how soon might that be 
 snatched away by the strong arm of right and justice, and 
 he himself be left pennyless, and friendless, to his own 
 guilty thoughts, in the cell of the criminal ! Fortune, 
 so ever propitious before, now seemed to frown darkly, and 
 tell him his outwardly brilliant, but inwardly dark career, 
 was about to close in ignominy ! In his pride of wealth 
 and position, he had boasted he would make his money save 
 him ; but now, since so many of his plans had failed since 
 those he hated and had striven to crush had escaped bis 
 snares and were soaring above him now he felt how im- 
 potent was the boast ; and that so far from saving, his ill- 
 gotten gains might prove a mill-stone round his neck t^ 
 drag him down the dark gulf of perdition ! Oh, harrowing 
 to the soul, and black 'as the midnight cells of Erebus, were 
 those thoughts, as they rapidly chased one another through 
 his heated and half-maddened brain ! 
 
 And well mayest thou doubt, and tremble, and lose con- 
 fidence in thine own dark resources, thou vain, proud, 
 scheming hypocrite ! for already the sharp sword of Justice 
 hangs over thy guilty head, soon to fall and sever the last 
 hope that supports thee ! 
 
 For some minutes Atherton remained buried in his own 
 reflections ; and then starting suddenly to his feet, called 
 Arabella. But all unconscious of the call, or even of her 
 own existence, Arabella, partly resting against the wall, and 
 partly extended on the floor, lay in a death-like swoon. 
 
 Alarmed for his daughter, Atherton now rung the bell 
 and shouted for his domestics. In a short time all the oc- 
 cupants of the house rushed into the chamber, their faces 
 the picture of excitement and dismay ; and crowding round
 
 200 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 the sufferer some chafed her hands, some her temples, and 
 some applied salts, while others looked on bewild^d. 
 
 Perceiving signs of returning animation, Atherton or- 
 dered her to be placed in bed, to have the family physician 
 sent for immediately, and all to withdraw save her own 
 waiting-maid. At length Arabella slowly opened her eyes, 
 and giving her father and maid a stare of wonder, suddenly 
 raised herself, and glancing eagerly round the apartment, 
 in a low, eager voice exclaimed: 
 
 'Acton my brother where is he ?" 
 
 " He has just stepped out," replied her father, making 
 an effort to appear composed. 
 
 Arabella looked at him steadily a moment, with the ex- 
 pression of one endeavoring to recall something that has 
 slipped the memory. Then her features gradually assumed 
 h look of heart-touching anguish ; and placing her hands 
 to her throbbing temples, she slowly fell back on the pil- 
 low, and murmuring, " Oh, my God! my God !" sunk into 
 a state of apathy bordering on unconsciousness. 
 
 When the physician came and examined her, he shook 
 his head dubiously, and, to the anxious inquiries of her 
 father, replied that hers was a case beyond the science of 
 medicine, and that he could only recommend the most care- 
 ful nursing and the avoidance of all topics of an exciting 
 nature. 
 
 " Her reason," he concluded, " totters on its throne, and 
 quiet, for a few days, will either restore her or make her a 
 confirmed maniac." 
 
 On hearing these words, Atherton, without trusting his 
 voice in reply, rushed almost frantically to his own apart- 
 ment, and locking the door against all intrusion, he there 
 passed an hour of such agonizing wretchedness, as might, 
 in some measure, atone for his guilty career.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE MURDERER AND THE MURDERED. 
 
 NEWS of the horrid murder of poor Ellen Douglas, and 
 the arrest of Acton Atherton for the crime, flew like wild- 
 fire over the city, and created the wildest excitement and 
 consternation insomuch, that citizens of all professions 
 left their business, and collected in groups at the corners 
 of the streets, on the pleasure grounds, and in all public . 
 places, to talk the affair over in low, eager, mysterious 
 tones, express their own opinions, and listen to comments*^ 
 from others. To fan the flame of popular excitement and 1 '' 
 put money in their own pockets, several of the daily jour- 
 nals issuetl extras, setting forth the affair in the wildest 
 shape of exaggerated romance, and giving a minute and 
 sickening detail of how they supposed the horrid deed had , 
 been perpetrated; and though each differed essentially 
 from every other, yet all were received and swallowed with, 
 eager credulity by an excited populace, ready to gulp down 
 any thing that would strain their wonder and feed their 
 morbid passions. 
 
 And even had the press been silent, there was enough 
 of the wild, startling and romantic in the affair, as it flew 
 from ear to ear, and put the city in unusual commotion. 
 In the first place, the father of the murderer, as a princely 
 millionaire, was generally known by reputation, if not per- 
 sonally ; and the murderer himself had moved a bright 
 particular star in the highest circles of aristocracy and 
 fashion. Connected with this, the story at once got abroad 
 22* (261)
 
 202 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 of how he had treacherously seduced poor Ellen, (who was 
 now represented as all that was once lovely, pure,amiable 
 and high-minded,) by a sham marriage ; and thaWreing on 
 the point of alliance with one of the oldest, most respecta- 
 ble and opulent families in the city, and fearful of exposure, 
 he had sought to hide his disgrace with the most heinous 
 and damning of crimes. This the reader knows was not 
 strictly correct as Acton was aware the exposure he so 
 much dreaded had taken place but of this the mass was 
 ignorant, and consequently surmised as nearly correct as 
 the public generally does in such cases. From the major- 
 ity of the citizens, or those inferior to him in point of 
 wealth, Acton was destined to receive no sympathy but, 
 on the contrary, their most bitter curses ; and so excited 
 were the vindictive passions of the lower orders, that but 
 r a doubly strong and well-armed police, they would 
 :ive mobbed the Tombs, broken into his cell, and dragged 
 him forth, a victim to their wild fury. As it was, not only 
 Centre street, but all the avenues leading to the Tombs, 
 were blocked up at an early hour in the morning, by a fu- 
 rious multitude, eager to be present at his examination, or 
 pun the first intelligence of what was taking place. Even 
 the house of Madame Costellan was surrounded by a dense 
 mob, of both sexes, all ages and colors drawn thither by 
 that same vile curiosity which leads persons to witness an 
 execution and in consequence, a strong body of police was 
 required to be in constant attendance throughout the day, 
 to protect the premises and guard the body of the deceased. 
 It is not our intention to give a detail of either the 
 examination or trial of Acton Atherton, as our space is 
 limited, and other matters, more important to our purpose, 
 must be brought forward ere we close. Let it suffice, then, 
 that the former occupied two sittings of the magistrate, 
 and that a large array of witnesses were summoned before
 
 THE MURDERER AND THE MURDERED. 263 
 
 the court, whose evidence, collectively, was sufficient to 
 cause the prisoner to be indicted for willful murder. The 
 Grand Jury, too, returned a true bill ; and his not being a 
 bailable case, Acton was remanded to prison, to take his 
 trial at the spring term of the court of Oyer and Terminer. 
 
 During the prisoner's examination, his half distracted 
 father was present, and exerted his wealthy influence to 
 the utmost to get him clear ; but this was a case of too 
 strong circumstantial evidence for his purpose ; and he was 
 forced to retire from the field which he did, cursing his 
 own natal hour and the impotence of his ill-gotten gains. 
 It was the last desperate struggle in his wicked career, 
 made on the very verge of his own terrible overthrow and 
 ruin, of which more anon. 
 
 Meantime, Edgar and his friends came forward and 
 offered their services to consign to dust the mortal remains 
 of the poor, ill-fated Ellen Douglas. Permission being 
 granted by the authorities, they set about their mournful 
 task ; but so great was the excitement, ami the desire, 
 excited by curiosity, of hundreds of strangers to be pre- 
 sent, that the police Vere forced to interfere, and it was 
 judged advisable to bury her in the night which was 
 finally done Edgar and Virginia accompanying the 
 deceased as chief mourners, and dropping a tear upon* her 
 humble grave, at the recollection of her many kindnesses 
 to them and the thought of her awful and untimely fate. 
 
 It was a solemn scene, to stand, with flaming torches, ia 
 the dead hours of night, around the open grave of this 
 child of sorrow, cut down in the bloom of life, and behold 
 her coffin lowered into the cold, damp earth, with which its 
 frail tenant soon must mingle, dust to dust, to come forth 
 never more till the sound of the Last Trump should sum- 
 mon it to another life and final judgment ; and remember, 
 withal, that she, erewlnlc, was as pure, and lovely, and
 
 264 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 happy as any present ; and, but for one fatal error, less 
 her fault, perhaps, than her misfortune, might even now be 
 exulting in life, and pride, and hope, and joy the admired 
 and loved, extolled and honored of a wide and brilliant 
 circle of light-hearted friends. It was a sad and dismal 
 scene, and one calculated to impress itself on the beholder 
 so deeply, that time, with all its events and changing cir- 
 cumstances, might never be able to erase it from the 
 mind. 
 
 "Alas!" sighed Morton, as, with his wife on one hand 
 and his daughter on the other, he stood on the verge of 
 Ellen's last earthly home, and heard the hollow sound of 
 the earth rattling on her coffin : "Alas ! what a creature is 
 man ! here to-day and gone to-morrow now in the joy, 
 pride and exultation of happy life now in the cold, dark 
 embrace of death, with weeping friends around, taking the 
 last parting look of all that was once so dear to them. 
 How wise is the Great Infinite, in shutting from us all 
 knowledge of the future, that we may the better live and 
 enjoy the present or, with the shining shield of hope for 
 our defence, do battle bravely against the * ills we have.' 
 Poor Ellen! poor, ill-fated, untimely Ellen Douglas! 
 child of misfortune, ' more sinned against than sinning' 
 little could she dream, in the flowery days of happy youth, 
 that her first years of blooming maturity would find her 
 thus ! Oh ! what a powerful and painful lesson, to guard 
 us all, my friends, against the first fatal step from virtue 
 and honor ! She is gone, and thus we bury her forever 
 from our sight, trusting in God's mercy she finds that hap- 
 piness beyond the grave which sinful earth denied her. 
 God help us all ! we know not whose turn it next may be 
 to follow her ! Let us go ;" and slowly the small proces- 
 sion moved away and silently departed to their several 
 homes
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 HYPOCRISY AND CRIME. 
 
 IT was the fourth day from the arrest of his son for his 
 last great crime, that Oliver Atherton sat beside the bed 
 of his daughter, holding one of her hands in his, aiyl gaz- 
 ing upon her features now white as the driven snow, but 
 seemingly composed his own countenance haggard, and 
 pale, and full of sorrow and anguish. 
 
 "And how do you feel to-day, my child?" he asked, 
 with a tenderness hitherto foreign to his nature. 
 
 " Better, I thank you, father," was the low, calm reply. 
 
 " I am rejoiced to hear it, Arabella ; for since Acton is 
 gone, you are my only solace." 
 
 " 0, I am so happy to know he came off clear of the foul 
 charge ; for I was fearful he had been led,- in the heat of 
 passion, to do some rash act ; and when the officer came to 
 arrest him, I thought my brain would consume and fly 
 from me, it felt so heated and light. But where think you 
 he has gone, father ?" 
 
 " I do not know," replied the other, turning away his 
 head to conceal his emotion not so much for the deception 
 he was practising, as for the deep regret that the story he. 
 had told his daughter could not be verified and Acton be 
 at liberty. 
 
 "But he will come back soon, father?" 
 
 ," I trust so, Arabella ; though the excitement is still so 
 great, on the account of even suspicion attaching itself to 
 
 265
 
 266 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 him, that for the present perhaps he had better remain 
 away." 
 
 At this moment the negro Jeff entered the room, and 
 handed Atherton a card. 
 
 " Where is he ?" asked the latter, as he glanced at the 
 name. 
 
 "In de parlor, Massa." 
 
 " I will be down directly. Or stay perhaps I had bet- 
 ter invite him up here. It is our clergyman, Arabella 
 the Rev. Stephen Parkhurst." 
 
 " Show him up," answered Arabella " I shall be pleased 
 to see him." 
 
 " I will do it myself," said Atherton to the negro ; and 
 he arose and left the room. 
 
 In a -few minutes he returned, in company with the rev- 
 erend gentleman, a man of middle age, with gray hair, 
 and a countenance somewhat remarkable for its placidity, 
 and a sweet, benevolent smile which lingered over it. His 
 appearance was very prepossessing, for his every look 
 showed you he was at heart what he openly professed to be, 
 a true Christian. He greeted Arabella warmly and kindly, 
 and immediately entered into a conversation with her, which 
 'lasted some quarter of an hour, during which he gently 
 urged upon her the importance of her putting her trust in 
 One who was able to support her through every' and all 
 trials that she might, in the course of human events, be 
 called upon to undergo. 
 
 "When most sorely afflicted," he said, in conclusion, 
 " we should remember we are chastened by the hand of 
 God for some wise purpose ; and instead of weakening by 
 doubt, we should rather strengthen our reliance by faith, 
 that all is done for the best ; and that He, in His mercy, 
 will either safely deliver us from adversity in this life, or, 
 what is of still more importance, bear us safely over the
 
 HYPOCRISY AND CRIME. 267 
 
 dark ' valley of the shadow of death.' It is in our hours 
 of trouble, when every thing seems conspiring to crush us, 
 that we most feel the need of Divine aid ; and I trust, my 
 daughter, whatever may be your afflictions and God only 
 knoweth what they will be you will rely solely upon Him, 
 and come out in the end purified and sanctified, so as by 
 fire, and fitted for that glorious Mansion beyond the shores 
 of time, which he has prepared for all who love Him and 
 keep His commandments." 
 
 Saying this, Mr. Parkhurst turned to the father of Ara- 
 bella, and drawing him aside, said, in a tone too low to 
 reach the ears of the invalid : 
 
 " My dear brother, I grieve to see you so sorely dis- 
 tressed. It is a terrible thing to have a beloved son, in 
 whom the hopes of a fond father's heart are centered, 
 arraigned at the solemn bar of man for a crime that makes 
 humanity shudder; and deeply, from my very heart, do I 
 sympathise with you in your awful affliction. But God 
 alone, my brother, knoweth what is best; and I humbly 
 pray He will send you Christian fortitude sufficient to 
 carry you through all your terrible trials !" 
 
 The scheming man of wealth groaned. 
 
 " It is very hard to bear up, my dear brother," pursued 
 the divine, in a consoling tone, " when we see those we 
 love snatched away from us by some fortuitous circum- 
 stance ; but I humbly trust, in this, your trying hour, you will 
 bring religion to your aid, and endeavor, through much 
 prayer, to become reconciled to God's wise dispensation." 
 
 Again the hypocrite groaned; and after looking upon 
 
 him compassionately, a moment, the other went on. 
 
 , " But with you, my brother, it is different from those of 
 
 \ the world, who -have, in similar afflictions, no hope to 
 
 depend on. You, I trust, are a Christian, and have the 
 
 holy courage of those who passed through martyrdom
 
 268 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 unflinching. You have professed the holy religion of 
 Jesus Christ " 
 
 " No more no more !" interrupted Atherton with a 
 groan, and a shudder that shook his whole frame ; and 
 covering his face with his hands, he kept it some moments 
 concealed from the other. 
 
 How did his hypocrisy stand him now ? Where was the 
 Christian resignation he had openly professed ? Where the 
 Christian hope on which he should have been relying? 
 How stood his conscience in this trying moment ? Was it 
 perfectly at ease or did he feel its remorseful stings ? 
 
 But Oliver Atherton was not yet changed at heart. His 
 fears of the storm already gathered over him, and about to 
 burst in fury, alone made him quail. Dissimulation was in 
 his nature yet. It was his evil genius, which ever stood 
 ready to prompt him wrongly. And it came to his aid 
 now ; for withdrawing his hands, he continued, meekly : 
 
 "My dear brother Parkhurst, what you have said is 
 true. There is consolation for those who have proper faith 
 in Divine mercy ; but, at the same time, I must own, 
 perforce, I am ' of the earth earthy/ and in my worldly 
 moments have doubtless committed many errors, for which 
 I must atone by sincere repentance. Still I will endeavor 
 not to despair in this trying hour ; but rely upon the mercy 
 of Him whom I have openly professed to serve ; and trust, 
 as you say, that I am chastened for a wise purpose." 
 
 " We all have our errors," returned the other, " and 
 must needs have our moments of repentance ; but it truly 
 rejoices my soul to see you bear up with so much Christian 
 courage." 
 
 He was on the point of proceeding further ; but the 
 opening of the door, and the entrance of the negro in 
 haste, with an anxious look on his countenance, interrupted 
 him. Advancing at once to Atherton, the black whispered
 
 HYPOCRISY AND CRIME. 269 
 
 a few words in his ear. The other started, and turned 
 deadly pale. Then rising from his seat, in some trepi- 
 dation, he asked to be excused a few moments, and quitted 
 the room, followed by the black. Some five or ten minutes 
 elupsed, when the negro returned and whispered in the ear 
 of the divine ; who immediately arose, and saying to Ara- 
 bella he would presently return, followed the messenger 
 down stairs. In the parlor he found the host, pacing to 
 and fro, with anxious looks and a trembling step ; while at 
 a little distance were seated tw^o coarsely habited indivi- 
 duals, who seemed carelessly surveying the gorgeous furni- 
 ture of the apartment and the splendid paintings adorning 
 the walls. 
 
 " My dear brother," spoke Atherton, in an agitated 
 voice, drawing the clergyman aside, " misfortune, it seems, 
 never comes alone. I am in trouble. By what mistake, 
 or by what foul means, I know not, "but I now stand 
 arrested for the startling crime of forgery, and must per- 
 force away at once and answer to the calumnious charge." 
 
 " For forgery, say you, my dear brother ?" exclaimed 
 the other, in astonishment. 
 
 "Even so." 
 
 " But you are innocapt ?" 
 
 "As you are, my worthy friend. I do not understand 
 it. It is, probably, some base conspiracy of my enemies, 
 if I have any which I am not aware of to seize me at a 
 time when public opinion, on account of this dreadful affair 
 of my son, is ready to go against me ; and so blast my 
 reputation, and crush me, if not with proof, at' least with 
 vile suspicion, which is but little better. But I am inno- 
 cent, and shall in the end come out .triumphant though, 
 as I said before, I must away now and answer to the 
 charge. Oh God !" he groaned, " what is to come next ?" 
 . "This is very unfortunate," replied the clergyman, 
 23
 
 270 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 looking hard at the other, " and very mysterious. I am 
 all bewilderment. What is the world coming to, surely, 
 when man arrests and drags to prison his fellow man for a 
 crime of which he is innocent ! But fear not, my brother ! 
 Rely upon the strong arm of Jehovah, and you shall have 
 justice done you." 
 
 The hypocrite groaned again perhaps at the thought 
 that the last words of the other might be verified, and that 
 he would have justice done him, which at present was what 
 he most feared. 
 
 " Come," spoke up one of the officers, " we can't delay 
 any longer." 
 
 "A moment," rejoined Atherton ; and then turning to 
 Mr. Parkhurst, he continued : " But poor Arabella ! the 
 news of this would kill her. You must not let her know 
 the real state of the case, till it becomes unavoidable ; but 
 tell her I have been called away on a matter of great 
 moment, and you know not how soon I may return. This 
 you can do, without making a false statement, which of 
 course I do not require nor expect. All knowledge of 
 Acton must be kept from her, till she is fully recovered ; 
 and, most important of all, my dear friend and brother, 
 (and Atherton grasped the clergyman's hand, looked 
 earnestly and pleadingly into his eyes, while his voice 
 became low, and tremulous, and very pathetic,) whatever 
 may happen and Heaven only knows what will should, 
 in fact, my enemies triumph, and I not be able to return 
 you will be kind to my daughter ? you will see that she 
 do'es not suffer ? in a word, you will be a father to her, 
 my brother ?" 
 
 " I wSJ^'^ replied the other, solemnly, while tears of 
 sympathy started to his eyes : " I will. But, surely, you 
 do not apprehend " 
 
 " Say no more !" interrupted Atherton, in an agony of
 
 HYPOCRISY AND CRIME. 271 
 
 mind that drew cold drops of perspiration to his forehead. 
 " Say no more ! Be kind to Arabella ! God bless you ! 
 Farewell !" and giving the clergyman another hearty grip 
 of the hand, he turned abruptly away, and signified to the 
 officers he was ready to depart. 
 
 With a firm step, and a countenance now composed and 
 serene though within the passion-fires were wildly con- 
 suming and ready to explode, like those in the bowels of 
 the earth just prior to a terrible eruption Atherton 
 calmly led the way to a carriage in waiting, which he 
 entered with the officers, and was driven away, to take his 
 preliminary trial before a magistrate for one of the boldest 
 and most ingeniously executed forgeries on record.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE FORGERY. 
 
 WHEN Oliver Atherton appeared before Alderman Croly 
 and beheld the parties present, he became so violently 
 agitated that it was only by a great effort he prevented 
 himself from sinking to the ground. What he saw at a 
 glance, told him tdo well that his long guilty career had now 
 come to a frightful terminus. Before him, apparently 
 awaiting his arrival to complete their triumph, stood 
 Morton, and Dudley, and Edgar, and, most dreaded of all, 
 Avith a sardonic grin on his ugly features, his own vile 
 tool, the treacherous Nathan Wesley. 
 
 To understand the nefarious scheme of which Atherton 
 was the author, it will be necessary for us to give in sub- 
 stance Wesley's testimony. Being put under oath, with 
 the understanding that he was to be considered as state's 
 evidence, and consequently exonerated in the eyes of the 
 law for his own part in the dark Ijfansaction, he told his 
 story in such a bold, unhesitating, straight-forward manner, 
 that all present felt convinced, no matter what had been 
 the tenor of his life heretofore, he now at least spoke the 
 truth. 
 
 He began by stating that some five years previous, 
 mentioning the exact date, the accused had found him at 
 a time when, driven nearly to desperation by poverty, he 
 was ripe for almost any scheme that would put money in 
 his empty pockets; and had commenced by asking him 
 what he would do to be rich, and ended by unfolding to 
 '272)
 
 THE FORGERY. 273 
 
 him a dark plot, and offering him a fortune if he would 
 venture to become one of the principal actors therein. 
 This plot was no other than forging or altering a will of 
 the defendant's brother-in law, Ethan Courtly, who was 
 about to set sail for Europe, from whence ifc was his (Ather- 
 ton's) intention he should never return alive. The will, in 
 the first place, was to be drawn up in due form by a 
 lawyer; and then, to prevent the possibility of detection, 
 was to be copied entire by Wesley, and the copy be pre- 
 sented to the principal and witnesses for signing. This 
 was accordingly done ; when Atherton, taking possession 
 of it, for the purpose, as he said, of having it recorded, 
 passed it over to Wesley for alteration. This alteration 
 consisted in extracting, by means of a chemical process, 
 such portions of the will as bestowed the bulk of the pro- 
 perty upon the wife and heirs of the deceased, and supply- 
 ing the place thereof with such language as would make 
 Atherton the principal inheritor. 
 
 This being effected in a manner almost certain to escape 
 detection from the fact of the hand-writing of both the 
 alteration and original being the same Atherton, the 
 better to blind all parties, had the boldness to have the 
 forgery recorded the day previous to the embarkation of 
 Ethan Courtly. Of this vile transaction, Wesley stated, 
 in conclusion, there was only one other who had any know- 
 ledge. This was the lawyer who drew up the. original 
 will, and who, having by chance overheard a private con- 
 ference between the witness and the accused, and being 
 discovered ere the important secret had escaped his pos- 
 session, soon after mysteriously disappeared. 
 
 " In other words he was murdered, I suppose ?" said 
 the counsel for defence. 
 
 Wesley shuddered and turned pale as he replied : 
 
 "I didn't say that." 
 
 23*
 
 274 " THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 "No, but your language implied as much." 
 
 " So please your Honor, and you gentlemen," said 
 Atherton, with a gleam of malice on his countenance, " I 
 do here holdly accuse Nathan Wesley of committing most 
 foul murder, and beg you will have him arrested forth- 
 with." 
 
 "One case at a time," replied the magistrate. 
 
 " As matters are, I demand that my client be liberated 
 at once !" rejoined the lawyer. " Surely your Honor 
 cannot think of detaining him on the flimsy evidence of a 
 witness who has already owned to the commission of a 
 capital offence?" 
 
 "it's a lie!" cried Wesley, much excited. " I haven't 
 owned to any such thing; and I'll be if I do, either !" 
 
 "Silence, sir !" exclaimed the magistrate; "and when 
 you speak again, make use of more respectful language, or 
 I will have you imprisoned for contempt of court. Is 
 there any other evidence to be brought forward touching 
 this forgery?" 
 
 " I will bring evidence to impeach the present witness," 
 replied the counsel of Atherton. 
 
 " All in good time, my friend," rejoined Morton, with 
 marked emphasis, and a peculiar glance of deep meaning 
 toward the other. "Before proceeding further, your 
 Honor, I would have an officer despatched for this will, 
 that we may examine it and compare it with the descrip- 
 tion given by the witness." 
 
 "It shall be done," replied Alderman Croly; and he 
 beckoned to an officer in attendance, with whom he held 
 some conversation, in a tone too low for the others to 
 hear. 
 
 At this the features of Atherton assumed a sickly, cada- 
 verous appearance of despair ; while the countenance of
 
 THE FORGED WILL. 275 
 
 Wesley, and more especially his small black eyes, displayed 
 a look of malicious triumph. 
 
 " You'll find it," said the latter, " in a private drawer 
 of the escritoire, which stands in the library." 
 
 The officer soon after passed out of the room ; but ere 
 he did so, Morton whispered a few words in his ear; and 
 then resuming a seat before a table, commenced over- 
 looking some manuscripts. For a moment deep silence 
 prevailed ; and the magistrate was on the point of inqui- 
 ring if any more witnesses for the prosecution were to 
 appear, when the door slowly opened, and a pale, ema- 
 ciated, ghostly figure stood in the entrance, and rolled his 
 protruding and glassy-looking eyes steadily over those 
 present, until they fell upon "Wesley, where for a time they 
 remained stationary, with a look well calculated to freeze 
 the blood of one given to believe in the supernatural. 
 
 And most astonishing w r as its effect upon Wesley in the 
 present instance insomuch that every eye became fixed 
 upon him. On the first appearance of this ghostly object, 
 the attorney looked towards it with a careless, indifferent 
 air. Then he slightly started, and his features began to 
 pale. Then his eyes enlarged and protruded, his nostrils 
 expanded, and his lower jaw dropped slightly ajar. But 
 it was not till the cold, glassy, unearthly-looking eyes of 
 the figure fastened upon his, that his terror reached its 
 height. Then did he become a frightful picture. With hia 
 hand raised in an attitude of horror his eyes apparently 
 starting from his head his hair fairly standing on end 
 his mouth wide open his breath suspended every feature 
 of his countenance distorted with fright and rigid as mar- 
 ble with cold drops of perspiration pressing through the 
 pores of his skin, and a slight tremor running through his 
 frame he remained, for a brief time, the perfect einbodi-
 
 276 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 ment of guilty fear. At length he found his voice, and, 
 fairly shrieked : 
 
 " Man or devil living or dead of earth, heaven, or 
 hell I'll speak to you ! Who are you ?" 
 
 " Whom you cast into the sea," replied the apparition, 
 in a deep, hollow, sepulchral voice. 
 
 " Great God !" shouted Wesley, springing up franti- 
 cally : " can the sea give up its dead before its time ? 
 Have you come to drag me to judgement ?" , 
 
 " Do you own to the horrid deed ?" was the sepulchral 
 rejoinder. 
 
 "Yes! to anything so you'll quit my sight forever! 
 Hell can't have more terrors, and I'd rather be hung than 
 see your ghost again." 
 
 " Then behold me your accuser in the living flesh," 
 replied the figure, advancing into the room ; " and thine 
 above all others, thou man of crime !" he added, turning 
 to Atherton, who was by this time almost as much a pic- 
 ture of horror and dismay as Wesley himself. 
 
 " This, your Honor," said Morton, addressing the magis- 
 trate, who was all amazement, " is another witness whom I 
 have taken the liberty to introduce in this manner, for the 
 purpose of observing what effect it would have upon the 
 guilty. This, sir, is Alanson Davis, the lawyer who drew 
 up the original will of Ethan Courtly. 
 
 The reader of course has not forgotten the invalid, 
 whom Edgar found and had conveyed to the hospital, 
 although for some time he has been apparently overlooked. 
 His malady, as the physician stated it would be, was for 
 some days very severe, so much so that his life was de- 
 spaired of. But good medical attendance and careful nur- 
 sing turned the important crisis in his favor, and from that 
 moment, he began to amend even more rapidly than was 
 anticipated. This was doubtless much owing to his strength
 
 THE FORGERY. 
 
 of will and desire to be abroad. So fast did he recover, 
 that just previous to the murder of Ellen, Morton and 
 Edgar were admitted to see him, when he was able to state 
 concisely what he knew of the forgery of Atherton. This, 
 combined with Wesley's disclosure, which he had made on 
 the morning he was closeted with the lawyer, was evidence 
 sufficient to proceed against the hypocrite; and Morton 
 had only delayed making the arrest till Davis was able to 
 leave the hospital. 
 
 With this explanation we will again proceed. 
 
 As foon as Wesley had sufficiently recovered from his 
 fright to understand that Alanson Davis stood before him 
 in propria persona, his look of fear changed to one of joy ; 
 and springing forward, ere the other was aware of his pur- 
 pose, he threw his arms around him and fairly shouted : 
 
 " Imprison me hang me do 'what you will with me 
 I don't care for consequences now; for though I'm a villain 
 I'm no murderer ; and since I've told all I know of my 
 dark deeds, which he (pointing to Atherton) put me up to, 
 I've got an easy conscience again, which I wouldn't ex- 
 change for the wealth of the Indies. 0, sir ! (to Davis) if 
 you only knew how I've been troubled day and night in 
 thinking over what I did to you, you'd may be have some 
 compassion. But you don't know any thing of it ; and 
 can't, till you do something like it yourself; and so I don't 
 expect any leniency, though I throw myself upon your 
 mercy." 
 
 His plain, common-place, earnest, impetuous words, 
 produced an effect upon Davis, which, in all probability, a 
 strain of polished eloquence would not have done. It 
 showed that the attorney was sincere in his repentance, 
 and not, as he had expected to find him, totally depraved. 
 There was the germ of something better in his nature than 
 the fruits had thus far given evidence of; and being a man
 
 278 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 more ready to forgive an injury, than do a wrong himself, 
 Davis thus replied : 
 
 " Far be it from me to press too hard a repentant man. 
 What I have suffered through your misdeeds, though, God 
 and myself only know. But as I hope to be forgiven for 
 my own errors, I am willing to forgive those of another 
 when I can justly do so. You, Nathan Wesley, have been 
 a bad man a man of guilt and crime ! But as, unknow- 
 ing of my existence, you have taken the preliminary steps 
 to bring the guilty prompter of all (here he glanced at, 
 Atherton, who was grinding his teeth in rage and despair) 
 to punishment, I will take it as evidence you intend to' 
 become a better man. Only convince me, by subsequent 
 acts, that your repentance is sincere, and I solemnly 
 promise never to bring an accusation against you'" 
 
 " You do ?" cried Westey, with a look of ecstatic delight. 
 " Well, if I don't do it, then, may I be hung higher than 
 Haman, and the carrion-eaters tear off my vile flesh piece 
 by piece." 
 
 The statement which Davis made, under oath, before the 
 magistrate, in substance confirmed the evidence of Wes- 
 ley. But there were some dark matters, which his own 
 inclination and the promise he had made to the latter, for- 
 bade him to touch upon, which we hasten to lay before the 
 reader. It has been said that Davis overheard a conversa- 
 tion between Atherton and Wesley, which placed them 
 both in his power. It occurred in this wise : Atherton had 
 employed Davis to draw up a will for Courtly, in the 
 presence of the latter; and as soon as it was done, he 
 (Atherton) had taken possession of it ; and under the pre- 
 text that proper witnesses were wanting, had delayed its 
 being signed at the time ; but had requested the lawyer to 
 call again at Courtly's office at a certain hour after night- 
 fall. Davis, mistaking the hour, called previous to the time
 
 THE FORGERY. 279 
 
 mentioned ; and finding the door ajar, and no light within, 
 entered, and took a seat to await the parties. Soon after 
 Wesley and Atherton came in together ; and, locking the 
 door, proceeded to discuss their plan of operation ; from 
 which it appeared that a copy of the will, drawn up hy 
 Davis, had just been made by Wesley, and was to be 
 presented to Courtly for signing previous to the appearance 
 of Davis, who was to be met by Atherton and informed 
 that Courtly had altered his mind in regard to the original 
 instrument, and had had another drawn up since that 
 suited his purpose better. By this means the lawyer was 
 to be deceived in regard to the whole affair, and his testi- 
 mony rendered worthless in case the will should ever have 
 a judicial investigation. 
 
 Having at last arranged every thing to his satisfaction, 
 concerning the alteration of the will, and how Courtly 
 was to be prevented from returning, &c., Atherton struck 
 a light, and, to his horror and dismay, discovered that his 
 dark secret was in the possession of one who would, in case 
 he escaped, be sure to betray him. Great evils require 
 powerful remedies ; and a cold calculating man of crime is 
 in general prepared for all emergencies. It was so in the 
 present instance ; for drawing a pistol, Atherton placed it 
 to the head of the lawyer, threatening his life if he stirred 
 or made the least noise ; and then, in a tone too low for 
 the latter to overhear, held a hurried conference with Wes- 
 ley. This over, the scheming man turned to Davis, and 
 informed him his choice lay between instant death and his 
 secret and sudden departure from the country. 
 
 " There is a vessel," he said, " outward bound, which 
 sails to-morrow morning at daylight. If you will consent 
 to be blindfolded and conducted on board of her, swearing 
 solemnly to keep our secret till a thousand miles are
 
 280 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 between us, you shall have life, liberty and a fortune. 
 Refuse this, and a speedy death is yours !" 
 
 Davis was not long in deciding, and of course chose the 
 least of the two evils. To be brief, a bandage was 
 instantly passed around his eyes ; and completely muffled 
 in a cloak, with the point of a dagger resting on his heart, 
 and the assurance that an attempt to call for aid would 
 cause it to be buried to the hilt, he was escorted by 
 Atherton and Wesley to the water, where, a skiff being 
 procured, he was placed in it, and rowed away by the 
 latter, while the former returned to town. 
 
 For a couple of hours he was thus borne along the 
 waters, until the noise of the city had died away in the 
 distance, and the steady strokes of the oarsman, and the 
 rippling of the light billows against the boat, were the only 
 sounds audible. Suddenly the oars ceased ; and thinking 
 himself near the vessel, Davis was on the point of address- 
 ing Wesley, when the latter careened the boat, and with a 
 vigorous shove plunged him headlong into the water. As 
 he fell, the bandage slipped off, and he could just see the 
 other rowing rapidly away, and the lights of the town far 
 in the distance. He called to Wesley, and begged him, 
 for the love of Heaven, not to leave him thus to die but 
 of course his entreaties were in vain. Being a good swim- 
 mer, Davis now struck out boldly for a small island about 
 a mile to leeward ; but ere he made two-thirds of the dis- 
 tance, he found his strength failing him rapidly. Fortu- 
 nately, he espied a log floating near, which he managed to 
 gain in a state of great exhaustion ; and clinging to this 
 he floated away on the current, which was setting hard 
 towards the open sea. In this manner he^ passed the night, 
 and the next morning found himself at least ten miles 
 from land, and still floating seaward. 
 
 But it is not our design to detail his adventures, which
 
 THE FORGERY. 281 
 
 of themselves would fill a volume. Suffice, then, that ere 
 another night set in, he was picked up in a state bordering 
 on unconsciousness, by a vessel bound on a trading voyage 
 to the coast of Africa. This vessel was afterwards wrecked 
 on that coast, and all aboard of her, save Davis and 
 another, perished. These latter might as well have been 
 dead ; for they were made prisoners by the blacks, and 
 subjected to the most brutal treatment. In fact, the com- 
 panion of Davis was afterwards murdered before his eyes, 
 and his own life only preserved by a whim of the chief of 
 the tribe, who fancied it would become his dignity to hvee 
 a white slave. 
 
 In this captivity Davis remained for three years, when 
 he effected his escape, and fortunately got on board a ves- 
 sel bound for the Indies. Thence he sailed to Liverpool ; 
 and finally, after a great many perils and vicissitudes, 
 landed in New York, where, being seized with a fever and 
 thrust out of doors, he was found by Edgar as previously 
 related. 
 
 On examination of the Courtly will, the alterations 
 mentioned by Wesley were readily discovered ; and not- 
 withstanding the original writing had been extracted in the 
 manner stated, still, on very close inspection, here and 
 there a word, or a part of a word, faintly traced, could be, 
 detected. This, combined with the testimony of Davis and 
 Wesley, was overwhelming evidence against Atherton, 
 and he was accordingly committed to the Tombs to take 
 his trial at the next sitting of the criminal conrt. 
 
 Incarcerated in the gloomy cell of a prison ; alone with 
 his own guilty thoughts ; abandoned by all who had once 
 fawned upon and flattered him ; his previous deeds viewed 
 alike with horror and contempt by the virtuous ; his repu- 
 tation and prospects in life blasted forever ; his own chil- 
 dren withdrawn from him by the strong hand of fate the 
 24
 
 282 THE FORGED TTILL. 
 
 one a murderer, -within the same strong walls that barred 
 his own liberty, and about, it might be, to end his career 
 on th gallows the other a poor invalid, now left to the 
 protection of strangers, perchance to finish her days in a 
 mad-house ; without a single hope to cheer the heavy hours 
 that now rolled by more tardily than ever years had done 
 before ; the pale, thin spectre of his deeply wronged and 
 almost murdered sister continually before his mental 
 vision: with all this to oppress him, Atherton now gave 
 himself up to the wildest despair, a thousand times wished 
 he never had been born, and would have put an end to his 
 own existence, but that his guilty conscience trembled at 
 the solemn thought of what might be his final doom in the 
 great Hereafter. 
 
 Now it was he saw and felt the fickle-heartedness of 
 worldly friends of those who fawn upon and hang around 
 the rich while fortune is propitious, as the bee clings to the 
 flower till its honey-sweets are exhausted for of all his 
 numerous acquaintances, including those he had looked 
 upon as intimate associates, only some two or three called 
 upon him in prison ; and these, with the exception of one, 
 more apparently for curiosity's than friendship's sake. 
 
 The exception was the Rev. Mr. Parkhurst, the man of 
 all others Atherton most wished yet dreaded to behold. 
 The clergyman, good soul, was deeply grieved : and though 
 he was now aware he had been grossly deceived in the pris- 
 oner whom he now looked upon as a guilty being, who, 
 while enacting the vilest deeds, had doubly perilled his soul 
 by masking all under the semblance of holy religion ; still 
 his was a Christian spirit to overlook and forgive, and hum- 
 bly hope and pray to see the tree give forth better fruits. 
 He still urged upon Atherton the importance of faith in 
 God, and reliance upon His mercy for pardon of his many 
 sins and transgressions, and bogged him to ?eok that con-
 
 THE FORGERY 283 
 
 solation in sincere repentance, which now, in every other 
 manner, would be denied him. 
 
 Atherton listened to him through, with what patience his 
 harassed mind would allow ; and then, without attempting 
 dissimulation again, abruptly changed the subject to his 
 daughter, the one which now bore the hardest upon his 
 half distracted senses. But it was little consolation he re- 
 ceived from the answers of the clergyman. Arabella had 
 heard of her father's arrest, and that her brother was still 
 a prisoner ; and the effect had been to completely upset her 
 reason. She was now an unconscious guest of Mr. Park- 
 hurst ; who, having no children of his own, promised to 
 look faithfully to her welfare ; and, in the event of her 
 mind becoming sane, would, with her consent, adopt and 
 make her heir to the little he possessed. 
 
 In the course of a month from his arrest, Oliver Ather- 
 ton was arraigned at the bar of justice to take his trial for 
 the crime of forgery. Meantime a great sensation had 
 been caused throughout the city and country, and the 
 press in all quarters of the Union, and even in Europe, 
 was teeming with details of the singular affair of both 
 father and son, from the highest circles of aristocracy and 
 fashion, being incarcerated in the same prison, at the same 
 time, for two such flagrant outrages against the law of God 
 and man. 
 
 As the day of trial drew near, great efforts were made, 
 by interested persons, to get the witnesses for the prosecu- 
 tion out of the way, by heavy bribes and threats of assas- 
 sination, but all to no purpose. Both Wesley and Davis 
 appeared, and amid a court-room crowded almost to suffo- 
 cation, while thousands without were forced to depart with 
 their curiosity unsatisfied, gave in their testimony. The 
 trial was not a long one ; for the evidence was direct and 
 positive ; the will showed for itself; the prosecution
 
 284 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 summed up briefly ; and though the counsel for the prisoner 
 attempted to impeach the witnesses and made a labored 
 defence, yet so rapidly was all carried through, that on 
 the second day the judge gave his charge to the jury, who 
 retired for half an hour, and brought in a verdict of 
 " Guilty." 
 
 The prisoner, pale, emaciated, and breathless with fear- 
 ful excitement, heard the awful word of condemnation, sunk 
 down with a groan of agony that for a time seemed to de- 
 prive him of consciousness. 
 
 The judge, after proper deliberation, proceeded to make 
 some very appropriate remarks on the heinousness of his 
 crime ; and winding up with the observation that he con- 
 sidered it a very aggravated case, sentenced Oliver Ather- 
 ton to fifteen years hard labor in the state-prison. He was 
 then, more dead than alive, remanded to his cell, to await 
 his turn to be taken hence to serve out his term of sentence 
 among the vilest of criminals. 
 
 Before he left the city, the forger requested an inter- 
 view with his daughter ; who had, meantime, regained her 
 reason, but was still in feeble health. Arabella, more like 
 a spectre than her former self, accompanied by the Rev. 
 Mr. Parkhurst, who had done all in his power to restore 
 her, and soften, by godly counsel, her overwhelming afflic- 
 tion, waited upon him in prison, where, for an hour, father 
 and daughter were closeted together. When Arabella 
 came forth, it was with a tottering step ; and being con- 
 ducted to a carriage, she was conveyed to her present 
 home, and again placed in bed, where she remained, her 
 spirit hovering on the verge of eternity for a period of 
 several weeks. 
 
 Atherton was also, at his own request, granted a part- 
 ing interview with his guilty son ; and when the jailor came 
 in to separate them, he found both lying upon the floor and
 
 THE FORGERY. 285 
 
 locked in each other's arms. They finally parted as two 
 beings who fondly love, but expect never to behold each 
 other again in mortal life ; and the separation was such, 
 that, hardened as he was in all manner of prison scenes, 
 the jailor could not restrain a tear of pity at the awful 
 doom they had justly drawn down upon themselves. 
 
 The next morning, heavily ironed, like a common felon, 
 the once proud, courted, opulent and philanthropic, but 
 hypocritical and guilty Oliver Atherton, was borne from 
 the city, a condemned criminal, to expiate, according to 
 the law he had violated, his daring offense against the wel- 
 fare of community. 
 
 Further, for the present, we shall follow him not, but 
 leave him to justice and his fate. 
 
 24<
 
 CHAPTER XXVL 
 
 THE LOVERS. 
 
 IT was just after the close of the trial of her uncle, by 
 which the law had decided that the immense possessions of 
 her father had been wrongfully withheld from herself and 
 brother, and when she had in a manner exchanged her hum- 
 ble state of poverty and dependance for that of a brilliant 
 heiress of great wealth, and knew that her hand would now 
 be eagerly sought for by thousands, who, a few weeks pre- 
 vious, would have looked upon her with pity and contempt 
 it was just at this period, we say, when she had every 
 inducement to be vain and proud, had vanity or pride 
 formed a part of her nature that Virginia Courtly, still 
 an honored guest of the Mortons, who would not listen to 
 aught touching her departure, sat alone with Dudley, in 
 the splendid parlor of the lawyer's elegant mansion, her 
 fair features very pale, and her soft blue eyes fixed with a 
 look of earnest surprise upon the one by her side, as if he 
 had just uttered a sentence whose meaning she did not dis- 
 tinctly comprehend. The eyes of Dudley were looking 
 tenderly into hers ; but there was a crimson hue on his 
 cheek, a tremor in his voice, and an embarrassment in his 
 manner, as he said: 
 
 " Yes, Virginia, I repeat, that for your sake and that of 
 your noble brother, I am rejoiced to know you both will 
 soon come into possession of an immense fortune ; but still 
 it makes me rather sad than otherwise to think of it." 
 
 " And wherefore, Mr. Dudley, should you be sad '!" 
 (286)
 
 I 
 
 T1IE LOVERS. 287 
 
 " Why, with wealth, you know, come great expectations ; 
 and it sometimes happens, that those who have been friends 
 in poverty, suddenly become estranged when fortune raises 
 one above the other. 
 
 " Why surely, you cannot so wrong me, as to suppose 
 the mere acquisition of wealth will alter my deep feelings 
 of friendship for you?" 
 
 " Do not say wrong you, Virginia, (and his voice faltered 
 to pathetic tenderness,) for I would not wrong you for the 
 world ! Neither can I conscientiously say I think your 
 friendship will be less sincere and ardent, when you have 
 become the heiress of half a million, than at this present 
 moment ; but, Virginia, (and his tone became low and 
 tremulous,) you are aware,_,doubtless, there are sometimes 
 aspirations in the heart that reach beyond mere friendship, 
 and deepen into the stronger and holier sentiment of love ; 
 and when this is the case, where there is a great disparity of 
 position, he or she who stands the lowest in the scale, can 
 only hope tremulously, or with a hope full of doubt, and 
 fear, and bordering on despair." 
 
 As he spoke, with his eyes fixed intently upon her, the 
 gaze of Virginia sunk modestly to the ground, her features 
 flushed and paled alternately, and her respiration became 
 irregular, showing that his words had a power of meaning 
 beyond what they clearly expressed. After looking at her 
 a moment, Dudley, in a low, tender tone, resumed : 
 
 " There was a time, Virginia ere in my mind there 
 came a foretokening of the events which have since trans- 
 pired, and by which, as every one can foretell, you are 
 destined to take an exalted position in society when I 
 gazed upon you with a delight, a rapture, which, though I 
 was then able in a measure to mask, I have not language 
 now to describe and when I fondly looked forward to a 
 no distant period, and fancied that, as an humble individual,
 
 288 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 I could ask your hand as an equal, and fear not the rivalry 
 of more wealthy suitors." 
 
 "And has that time passed?" inquired Virginia, with a 
 deeper blush, and in a faltering voice. 
 
 " Perhaps not wholly ; but you know, as well as I, that 
 as an heiress of half a million, you are a match for the 
 most brilliant spirits of the age, and can have a host of 
 admirers at your feet, who, if they cannot equal you in 
 fortune, can go so far beyond him who has nothing but a 
 name " 
 
 "And shall I," interrupted Virginia, now raising her 
 eyes, sparkling with animation, to those of Dudley " shall 
 I for these puppets of the world, these butterflies of fashion, 
 relinquish the friends that came nobly forward in my hours 
 of adversity, and raised my drooping spirits when they 
 were sinking under the treble weight of poverty, grief and 
 despair ; and taught me there was something still to live 
 for, to hope for, that human nature was not all corrupted 
 and depraved shall I, I say, because fortune has chanced 
 to smile upon me once more, now prove myself ungrateful, 
 without nobility of soul, and forget the latter and embrace 
 the former who would, but for my money, turn from me 
 with contempt simply because in the worthless dross of 
 this world (worthless beyond what we need ourselves, or 
 use to the benefit of our fellows,) we are nearly equal ? No, 
 Heaven forbid ! "What is their wealth to me, if I have 
 enough of my own ? Oh ! I have suffered too keenly the 
 pangs of destitution, to prize those who look with scorn 
 upon the poor ; and would rather have one noble, generous, 
 sympathising soul by my side, though needy as Lazarus, 
 than be surrounded by the most brilliant array of the hol- 
 low-hearted world, though every glance from them bestowed 
 my weight in gold, and every smile became a diamond fit 
 for the crown of an emperor!"
 
 THE LOVERS. 289 
 
 "Nobly spoken!" cried Dudley, with an enthusiastic 
 gleam of delight. And then his countenance seemed to 
 change, as by some painful recollection, and he immediately 
 added, in a subdued tone :' " But all who are rich are not 
 hollow-hearted. There are some, who, having almost 
 boundless wealth at their command, seem to seek only the 
 means to spend it to the best advantage of their fellow 
 beings ; and who, in every act of life, study to exalt them- 
 selves and ennoble others. Of this class there may be 
 congenial spirits, who will seek your hand, and who are 
 possessed of every requisite to make you happy. And this 
 reminds'me, Virginia, that I have a charge to execute for 
 a friend, whom I esteem as my own life ; and who, having 
 seen you at various times, believes you the very paragon 
 of excellence. But read this, and doubtless you will more 
 fully comprehend my meaning ;" and he handed Virginia 
 a letter, beautifully folded and sealed and stamped with 
 care, on which her own name was delicately traced in hand- 
 some characters. 
 
 Virginia opened, glanced over it quickly, marked the 
 name at the bottom, and then, with a heightened color, re- 
 perused it more leisurely. 
 
 " This is strange !" she said as she finished the epistle : 
 " This is very strange ! Are you aware, Mr. Dudley, 
 what this billet contains ?" 
 
 " Nothing, I trust offensive or I shall never forgive 
 myself for being the messenger of conveyance," replied 
 Dudley, earnestly. 
 
 " No, it contains nothing offensive in reality ; and yet I 
 would it had never been written. 
 
 "And wherefore, Virginia?" 
 
 " Because I must disappoint the hopes of the writer. It 
 is, in a word, a declaration of love from Clarence Malcolm, 
 and an offer of his hand."
 
 
 290 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 " And will you refuse to accept both, when I assure you 
 they are made in all sincerity?" asked Dudley coloring. 
 
 " I have heard much of Mr. Malcolm," replied Virginia, 
 " and believe him all that is generous and noble, and, as 
 your own most intimate friend, must ever hold him in high 
 esteem ; but you must remember, withal, I have never seen 
 him ; and even if I had, and had found him as near per- 
 fection as mortal man can ever become, must still have 
 rejected his suit." 
 
 " On what grounds?" 
 
 "That I cannot give my hand where my heart is not." 
 
 " But an acquaintance with each other might excite a 
 mutual passion." 
 
 " Never, Mr. Dudley ; for she who truly loves, can love 
 but once." 
 
 " Ah, then you love !" sighed Dudley. 
 
 Virginia hung her head, with a blush and was silent. 
 
 "And might I venture to inquire," said Dudley, after a 
 pause, in a faltering, embarassed tone, " who is the fortu- 
 nate rival of my friend ?" 
 
 " And can you ask that ?" replied Virginia, naively, 
 turning away her head, and seeming to search for something 
 she had lost. 
 
 Dudley started, his voice was tremulous, but eager, as he 
 rejoined: 
 
 " Do I understand aright ? Is it possible that poor 
 Dudley is preferred to his wealthy friend ? Speak, dear 
 Virginia, and keep me not in suspense ? Let me not soar 
 aloft on the bright wings of hope, only to be dashed back 
 on the dark rocks of disappointment and despair? As 
 poor Dudley, I have nothing to offer you but my hand and 
 heart; but if these will suffice, they are yours; and my 
 very existence shall be devoted to add, by every means in 
 liiy power, to your happiness. Our acquaintance has not
 
 THE LOVERS. 291 
 
 been long, it is true ; but there are hearts which so har- 
 monise from the very first, that time can add nothing but 
 its own strength of years to an attachment formed for 
 endurance through this life and the after life beyond the 
 grave. In a word, I felt I loved you from our first meeting ; 
 and now that I have, perhaps, presumptuously, fancied a 
 reciprocity of feeling, I offer you my hand, and ask that 
 you will be mine. Speak, dear Virginia, the single word, 
 that will elevate me to the very pinnacle of rapture, or 
 plunge me far down the precipice of regret and disappoint- 
 ment ! Speak, dearest will you be mine ?" 
 
 Virginia did not reply ; but there was that in her appear- 
 ance and manner a certain silent language of the heart, 
 shining out in warm blushes upon the cheek, and raising the 
 pearly tear in her soft blue eye, as tenderly and tremulously 
 it beamed upon his that spoke with an eloquence exceeding 
 words. Quietly Dudley stole her fair hand, and pressed 
 it to his lips ; and then, emboldened by this, drew her gen- 
 tly and unresistingly to his heart, and sealed upon her 
 ruby lips the first holy kiss of eternal love and pledge of 
 union on earth and in the life immortal. 
 
 For the space of half an hour there was little or nothing 
 said for true love is ever the most eloquent in silence 
 and then Dudley, with an arch smile on his countenance, 
 and in a cheerful tone, spoke : 
 
 "And now, dearest Virginia, say you wish Clarence 
 Malcolm joy in his triumph." 
 
 "Joy in his triumph!" repeated Virginia, with a look 
 of surprise. " I do not understand you. To what triumph 
 do you allude?" 
 
 " His triumph in winning you." 
 
 " In winning me, Dudley ? I am more at a loss than 
 ever to understand you." 
 
 "I see yon are, dearest," he replied, dropping grace-*
 
 292 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 fully upon one knee, taking her hand, and looking tenderly 
 into her sweet, blue eye/ "Dudley no more, then; but in 
 him who kneels at your feet, behold Clarence Malcolm in 
 propria persona !" 
 
 " You you Clarence Malcolm ? Dudley and Malcolm 
 one?" cried Virginia, in astonishment. 
 
 " Even so, dearest ; and now, ere I rise, I must have 
 pardon for having in the least deceived you ; though by 
 this deceit I have been rendered happy above my deserts, 
 in knowing I have been accepted for myself alone, and not 
 for my possessions, which are great beyond my wants. 
 When first I met you, I gave my name as Dudley, without 
 a design other than the whim of the moment ; but after 
 circumstances induced me to keep you in ignorance of my 
 real appellation ; in which I have thus far succeeded, 
 though at the risk, many times, of an exposure from 
 others." 
 
 " Does Edgar know of this ?" 
 
 " He did not till quite recently, when some one calling 
 me by my real name in his presence, I was forced to explain 
 though I did it by exacting of him a promise to withhold 
 the secret from you." 
 
 " And the Widow Malcolm, then, whom I have so often 
 visited with you " 
 
 " Is my own mother." 
 
 ' ' I am all bewilderment. I thought it very strange I 
 never met Clarence, but supposed it purely accidental. 
 Now, methinks, I can recall a hundred scenes when you 
 were on the point of being exposed, and many that looked 
 mysterious to me, though not sufficiently so to excite a 
 suspicion of the real cause." 
 
 " Well, dearest, you forgive me?" 
 
 " Freely so, on one condition." 
 
 " Name it."
 
 THE LOVERS. 293 
 
 " That as Dudley you wooed, and as Dudley you won 
 me, I may still call you by that endearing title." 
 
 " So be it, dearest Virginia, and not wholly call me 
 wrongly ; for as my mother's maiden name was Dudley, I 
 shall feel myself entitled henceforth to sign myself Clarence 
 Dudley Malcolm, and seal it thus ;" and rising from his 
 kneeling posture, he imprinted a second kiss upon the lips 
 of her who was now pledged to him forever. 
 
 It was a calm, beautiful, moonlight night, and in the 
 solemn "place of graves" the sacred sanctuary of those 
 who have " shuffled off this mortal coil " and gone down to 
 that silent, cold, untroubled rest that knows no waking 
 two forms might be seen moving slowly on together the 
 one a noble youth in the first vigor of early manhood the 
 other a maiden in all the sweet, fresh loveliness of the 
 opening rose. Slowly these two beings moved on together, 
 with silent, solemn step, as if their feet pressed the ground 
 with a reverence too sacred to jar the earth above the 
 final sleep of the dead. All was silent here though the 
 busy hum of the city, whose lights were sparkling not afar, 
 could be faintly heard like the roll of a distant drum. All 
 was still. Not a breeze stirred the blade and plant, that 
 had here grown rank in their summer day, and had fallen 
 crisp and sere beneath the fatal blasts and frosts of chil- 
 ling autumn and hoary winter. Not a breath rustled the 
 leaves, that, in their day, had made the trees as sylvan 
 bowers, but had long since been stripped of their beauty, 
 and now lay withered and crumbling above the mortal 
 remains of those who had planted and trained their sup- 
 porters in infancy. The fair moon, riding high in the 
 clear heavens, poured down her mellow beams through the 
 naked trees, upon the crisped plants and blades ; upon the 
 faded flowers that had bloomed and decayed above the 
 remains of frail mortality ; upon the withered leaves, that 
 25
 
 294 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 now spread a funeral pall over earth's best and fairest 
 over hearts that had once beat high with hope and joy, or, 
 burning with the passion-fires of unrequited love, or failing 
 ambition, or corroding grief, or stinging remorse, had at 
 last been quenched in despair, and smothered in death; 
 upon sculptured marble, that told, with ostentatious vanity, 
 of the once opulent dust that now reposed beneath ; upon 
 plain marble stones, that marked the resting place of those 
 who, having followed a middle course of life, had been 
 quietly "gathered to their fathers;" upon plain mounds of 
 earth, that covered such as had fallen too recently, or too 
 much in poverty, or with friends too few, to have their 
 last homes more conspicuously marked ; upon the remains 
 of wealth and poverty, virtue and vice, the good and the 
 bad: upon the quick and the dead the fair moon shone 
 down here brightening this object to bold relief, there 
 casting that in the gloom of deep shadow but still shining 
 steadily down, with a silvery, solemn light, as if aware her 
 beams fell upon a spot made hallowed by the frail dust of 
 those who had gone hence forever. 
 
 Slowly the two figures moved on together, in silence, 
 with even pace, past high-wrought monuments and common 
 stones past tombs of high and lowly born past graves 
 of rich and poor past light and shade, and every where 
 amid decay : slowly they moved on, till, far aside from 
 where most lay buried, they paused over a small rise of 
 earth that had never yet been green above its mortal tenant. 
 Here the youth took the hand of the maiden in one that 
 trembled with deep emotion ; and while with the other he 
 brushed away the dew that, from the fountain of his heart, 
 had gathered in his eye, he said : 
 
 " What place so fitting for sacred things as above the 
 remains of one we most dearly prized in life ! Here it is, 
 beholding the vanities of all things earthly, we feel least
 
 THE LOVERS. 295 
 
 tempted with its deceits, and most sincerely desirous to 
 embrace those pure and holy joys, which, though intangible, 
 are still incorruptible, and, being beyond the power of 
 annihilation, can only by death be changed to a more 
 blissful state of existence. Next to the pure enjoyment of 
 religion, is that of mutual love, pledged by two hearts, that 
 assimilate as the quiet stream and placid lake, to become 
 one and undivided when once united. Edith, (and tho 
 voice of the speaker became low and tremulous,) we have 
 been much together in the short space of weeks, I feel AVG 
 have known each other for years the sentiments of my 
 heart are already in your keeping and here, on the most 
 sacred spot which earth holds for me, I offer you my hand, 
 and with it pledge you my unchangeable, undying love !" 
 
 There was a silence, after the voice of the speaker had 
 ceased a tremulous silence on the part of the maiden 
 and then, in a solemn, sweet, silvery, artless tone, she 
 replied : 
 
 " Edgar, as sacredly, as solemnly, and sincerely as it is 
 proffered, do I accept your hand and heart ; and in return 
 yield you a love as true as Heaven, and constant as the 
 needle to its bridal star." 
 
 " Above thy mortal remains, witness it, mother, thou 
 saint in heaven ! and thou Great Ruler of all ! that here 
 we freely pledge ourselves to each other, and stamp it 
 with a seal of more than mortal affection ;" and upon the 
 lips of the lovely, trembling Edith Morton, Edgar Courtly 
 imprinted the first holy kiss of their mutual and enduring 
 love.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 WE have stated previously, that it was not our design 
 to give in detail the trial of Acton Atherton for the murder 
 of Ellen Douglas the only one he was destined to have 
 as Virginia, after hearing of the fate of the latter, had 
 positively refused to appear against him although, on 
 behalf of the State, her evidence alone would perhaps have 
 been sufficient to convict him. It will therefore only be 
 necessary for our purpose to briefly sketch the proceedings 
 against him and the result. 
 
 The day then, that Acton was put upon trial for his 
 life, was one marked with an excitement almost as 
 intense as when he was first brought forward for exami- 
 nation. The trial itself was long and tedious, and thou- 
 sands were daily forced to go away without getting a 
 glimpse of the prisoner the court-room, from the earliest 
 to the latest hour, being crowded almost to a state of 
 suffocation. The evidence in the case was mainly circum- 
 stantial, and in no instance for the prosecution positive the 
 nearest approach to it being the testimony of Sarah Farling ; 
 who swore that, to the best of her belief, the person she 
 admitted into the dwelling of Madame Costellan, just pre- 
 vious to the murder of Ellen, was the prisoner but that it 
 was he, she would not positively affirm. The evidence, 
 therefore, on the part of the state, was wholly circumstantial 
 but of such a nature, at the same time, that no one 
 doubted of the guilt of the prisoner, and very few of his final 
 (296)
 
 CONCLUSION. 297 
 
 conviction. The cloak and dagger were both brought for- 
 ward and identified as his property the tailor who made the 
 one being summoned as a witness, and the merchant who sold 
 the other likewise. It was not only proved that these were the 
 property of the prisoner, but that both were in his possession 
 an hour previous to the awful deed, and the sheath of the 
 dagger was found on his person at the time of his arrest. 
 It was proved, too, he had often made bitter threats against 
 the life of the deceased, and that he had been seen going in 
 the direction of her abode only half an hour previous to the 
 fatal deed. Here, on evidence as strong, apparently, 
 as " holy writ," the prosecution rested. 
 
 The defence opened by an attempt to prove the previous 
 good conduct of the prisoner, and impeach some of the 
 witnesses of the state both of which attempts were little 
 better than failures; and everyone had settled it in his 
 own mind that the prisoner must be convicted ; when lo ! 
 and behold ! a witness was brought forward, who astounded 
 and confounded all by proving an alibi. This was a 
 German grocer, who, under solemn oath, in the face of 
 God and man, firmly and directly asseverated, that at the 
 time the murder was committed, the prisoner was in his 
 company, at least half a mile from the scene of the horrid 
 transaction, and that he and the prisoner did not separate 
 for an hour afterwards. 
 
 What though the judges and lawyers, the jury and spec- 
 tators, were all taken aback by this unlooked for testimony ? 
 what though they believed it false that the witness had 
 perjured himself? yet here the evidence was before them 
 direct, straight-forward, positive, and unimpeached 
 and, as such, the jury were bound by oath to take it for 
 literal truth. The judges and jury were here to decide a 
 case involving the life of a fellow being not according to 
 their prejudices not, strictly speaking, according to their 
 25*
 
 298 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 belief but wholly, and irrespectively of party or person, 
 according to the evidence adduced on the trial. What 
 though they believed the witness had perjured himself ? 
 Their belief amounted to nothing until it was proved against 
 him ; and not being proved against him, they were bound 
 to take his testimony ; and taking his testimony, were con- 
 sequently bound by their oaths to render a verdict of 
 acquittal for the prisoner. With the falsity or truth of the 
 grocer's statement they had nothing to do, so long as it 
 was unimpeached before the court. The prisoner, most 
 certainly, could not be in two places at the same time ; the 
 prosecution had not proved positively he was the person 
 who committed the deed ; the defence had proved positively 
 he was the person who did not ; consequently there was 
 but one way to decide. 
 
 In giving his charge to the jury, the judge brought 
 forward all these points in a clear, concise and forcible 
 manner ; and concluded by observing, that where there was 
 the least doubt regarding the guilt of the accused, the 
 common law of humanity bade them lean to the side of 
 mercy. The jury then retired; but not until some time 
 the following day were they able to agree, when they 
 returned a verdict of "NoT GUILTY." 
 
 This decision was received with great dissatisfaction by 
 the public at large, before whose tribunal Acton already 
 stood condemned; and so high ran the popular feeling 
 against him, that it was deemed expedient to detain him 
 in confinement till the excitement had somewhat subsided. 
 
 Throughout Acton's trial, poor Arabella, who had 
 her reason and sufficient strength for the task, was ever, 
 like a guardian angel, by his side, watching every look, 
 and cheering him with what feeble words of hope she could 
 Bummon to her aid. Her features, like his own, were very 
 pale and haggard ; and it was evident to all who beheld
 
 CONCLUSION. 299 
 
 her, that grief, anxiety and keen despair, were, cancer-like, 
 gnawing at her heart's core, and wasting away her once 
 queenly form. Whatever of animosity might prevail 
 against the brother, not a soul, with a particle of humanity 
 in his composition, could view that noble, self-sacrificing, 
 and almost superhuman devotion of the sister, with other 
 than feelings of profound respect and sincere compassion ; 
 and many there were who wished him acquitted for her 
 sake. That he was guilty of the crime laid to his charge, 
 Arabella felt well convinced ; but in extension of the foul 
 act, she sincerely believed he had committed it in the heat 
 of passion, and had deeply regretted ever since both of 
 .which suppositions were literally true. In any event, he 
 was her brother, had always been kind to her, and was the 
 only being on earth, save her father, she truly loved. 
 Besides, he was now alone in the world, without a sympa- 
 thising friend, and she could not bear the terrible thought 
 of his coming to an ignominious death. At least she was 
 his sister, she had a right to be with him, and she felt it 
 her duty so to be ; and regardless of the opinions of the 
 world, she flew to his side, to stand his steadfast friend, 
 let weal or wo betide. More dead than alive, she was 
 present to hear the verdict of the jury ; and when the final 
 words, " not guilty," were pronounced in an audible voice, 
 she swooned for joy, and in an unconscious state was borne 
 from the court room. 
 
 But Arabella's devotion ended not here. She resolved 
 to share his fortune, whatever it might be ; and though the 
 Rev. Mr. Parkhurst tried with all the arguments in his 
 power to dissuade her from it, and offered her a home for 
 life ; and though Edgar, who had now come into possession 
 of his father's property, so long and wrongfully withheld 
 by his uncle and her father, proposed to settle upon her an 
 independency ; yet all propositions were alike made in yam.
 
 300 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 She firmly but respectfully declined to accept of either ; 
 and when, soon after, Acton secretly left the city, Arabella 
 was his companion, and went no one knew whither. 
 
 And now, the design of the present volume being accom- 
 plished, here, for a time at least, ends the history of the 
 family of Atherton. The final fate of father, son and 
 daughter belongs to a subsequent period ; and it remains 
 for the public to decide, whether the writer of these pages 
 shall ever again call them from obscurity to the stage of 
 action, or allow them, with all their virtues and vices, to 
 rest forevermore in oblivion. 
 
 Immediately after the conviction of Oliver Atherton, 
 Nathan Wesley left for parts unkown ; while Davis returned 
 to his friends in Baltimore, where Edgar generously settled 
 upon him an income of a thousand dollars per annum. 
 
 Some two or three weeks from the acquittal of Acton 
 Atherton, a brilliant array of wealth, beauty and talent 
 were assembled at Malcolm Place to solemnize the nuptials 
 of Edgar and Edith, Clarence and Virginia ; and though 
 evtjry thing was conducted on a scale of sufficient magni- 
 ficence to excite the envy of the proudest of the beau monde, 
 yet so true were Malcolm and Courtly to their noble prin- 
 ciples, that the poor of the city long had cause to remember 
 that day with gratitude, as in truth they still have their 
 generous benefactors. 
 
 On the second morning after his marriage, Edith handed 
 Edgar one of the leading journals ? of -the city; and pointing 
 with her fair, delicate hand to a prominent paragraph, 
 blushingly bade him read. Edgar did read ; and his eyes 
 dilated with surprise, and his heart swelled with pride, at 
 the following brief notice : 
 
 " MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. At Malcolm Place, on the 
 5th inst., by the Rev. Stephen Parkhurst, Clarence Mal- 
 colm, Esq. long and favorably known to the literary
 
 CONCLUSION. 301 
 
 world as a leading writer of the Magazine, and a 
 
 frequent contributor to various other periodicals, and in 
 private life as philanthropist, gentleman and scholar was 
 united in the holy bonds of wedlock to Miss Virginia 
 Courtly, a niece of Oliver Atherton, whose trial and con- 
 viction, for the forging of a will of her father, by which 
 both herself and brother were long deprived of their rightful 
 possessions, recently excited so much surprise and attention 
 in this city. Also, by the same, at the same time and 
 place, Edgar Courtly, Esq. a nephew of the said Oliver 
 Atherton, but better known to our readers as a gifted poet, 
 under the nom de plume of "Orion" was united to the 
 lovely Miss Edith Morton, only child of Calvin Morton, 
 Esq., a lawyer of great eminence. The wedding was a 
 brilliant one all the talent and fashion of the city were 
 present every thing went off delightfully and the joyous 
 couples have our most ardent wishes for their future pros- 
 perity and happiness." 
 
 " God bless you, my son !" cried Morton, stealing up 
 behind Edgar while he was reading ; " you were becoming 
 famous without my knowledge." 
 
 " Ay, and without my own," returned Edgar, blushing. 
 "Ha! here, methinks, comes the cause," he added, nod- 
 ding toward Clarence, who at this moment entered the 
 apartment, accompanied by Virginia. 
 
 "Well," answered Malcolm, with a smile, as Edgar ex- 
 plained the subject of conversation, " you know I purchased 
 your poems, and of course felt I had a right to use them as 
 suited my humor. But you are still more famous, Edgar, 
 than you have given yourself credit for. Read these at 
 your leisure ;" and he threw down upon the table some 
 half-a-dozen different journals, each of which contained a 
 highly complimentary notice of himself and friend. Edgar 
 was by no means vain but he could not drink in so much
 
 302 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 praise of his humble efforts and remain totally unmoved. 
 The main-spring of a laudable ambition was touched ; and 
 mainly to this circumstance, the world has since been in- 
 debted for many a beautiful effusion from his gifted pen ; 
 'while Clarence, under an assumed title, already ranks 
 among the leading writers of America. 
 
 And now, kind reader, we feel that our task is accom- 
 plished. In the pages preceding, we have endeavored to 
 show you how vice may for a time triumph over virtue ; 
 how hypocrisy may take the place of truth, and deceive the 
 world with its false glare ; how the innocent and pure at 
 heart may be made the suffering victims of the guilty and 
 vicious ; how crime may lie concealed, until in its very se- 
 curity, it breeds exposure ; how retribution, sooner or later, 
 follows guilt, and strikes with a heavy hand the guilty doer ; 
 how a deviation from the straight paths of virtue and honor 
 generally leads to ruin and death ; how the poor, without 
 friends, may struggle in vain, and die unpitied ; how good 
 actions may proceed from the seemingly bad, and bad ac- 
 tions from the seemingly good ; how the innocent may be 
 accused and arrested as guilty ; how the guilty may escape 
 the justice of the law as innocent ; how a noble act gene- 
 rally finds a noble reward ; how true virtue gives way to 
 no temptation, but bears the ills of life with patience, 
 hoping for a better day, and rejoices triumphant in the end. 
 In short we have endeavored to sketch a true picture of 
 life as it exists in the crowded city ; and though aware 
 that the sketch is faintly lined and faulty, yet if it please, 
 so far as it goes, we shall rest satisfied our humble efforts 
 have not been wholly made in vain. With you, gentle 
 reader, rests the moral of our story ; and so, for the pres- 
 ent, adieu. 
 
 THE END.
 
 I 

 
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