nued he, in a voice elevated to a higher
pitch--'have you now, sir, when a prospect of a richer alliance presents
itself, dishonoured yourself and my name, by deserting the girl whose
affections you have so gained?'

'No, sir! that is untrue.'

'Stop, young man! I have one at hand this moment who may compel you to
retract your words as shamefully as you have boldly said them. Do you
know this gentleman?'

'Father Loft us!' said I, starting back with astonishment, as the good
priest unfolded a huge comforter from his throat, and stood forth.

'Yes, indeed! no other,' said he, in a voice of great sadness; 'and
sorry I am to see you this way.'

'You, surely, my dear friend,' said I--'you cannot believe thus harshly
of me?'

'If it wasn't for your handwriting, I'd not have believed the Pope of
Rome,' was his reply, as he wiped his eyes. 'But there it is.'

So saying, he handed to me, with trembling fingers, a letter, bearing
the Paris postmark.

I tore it open, and found it was written in my own name, and addressed
to Father Loftus, informing him of my deep regret that, having
discovered the unhappy circumstance of her mother's conduct, I was
obliged to relinquish all thoughts of an alliance with Miss Bellow's
family, whose connection with my own had been so productive of heavy
misfortune. This also contained an open note, to be handed by the priest
to Miss Bellew, in which I was made formally to renounce her hand, for
reasons in the possession of Father Loftus.

In a second the truth flashed across me from whom this plot proceeded;
and scarcely permitting myself time to read the letter through, I called
out--

'This is a forgery! I never wrote it, never saw it before!'

'What!' said my father, starting round, and fixing his eye on the
priest.

'You never wrote it?' echoed Father Tom. 'Do you say so? Is that your
word as a gentleman?'

'It is,' said I firmly. 'This day, this very day, I have asked Miss
Bellew to be my wife, and she has consented.'

Before my father could seize my hand, the good priest had thrown his
arms round my neck and given me an embrace a bear might have envied.
The scene that followed I cannot describe. My poor father, quite
overpowered, sat down upon a chair, holding my hand within both his;
while Father Tom bustled about the room, looking into all the glass and
china ornaments for something to drink, as his mouth, he said, was like
a lime-burner's hat. The honest fellow, it appear