r the
paper which he held before him. It was a note of his late firm indorsed
by Lawrence Newt & Co. He gazed at his uncle's signature intently,
studying every line, every dot--so intently that it seemed as if his eyes
would burn it. Then putting down the candle and spreading the name before
him, he drew a sheet of tissue paper from a drawer and placed it over it.
The writing was perfectly legible--the finest stroke showed through the
thin tissue. He filled a pen and carefully drew the lines of the
signature upon the tissue paper--then raised it--the fac-simile was
perfect.

Taking a thicker piece of paper, he laid the note before him, and slowly,
carefully, copied the signature. The result was a resemblance, but
nothing more. He held the paper in the flame of the candle until it was
consumed. He tried again. He tried many times. Each trial was a greater
success.

Tearing a check from his book he filled the blanks and wrote below
the name of Lawrence Newt & Co., and found, upon comparison with the
indorsement, that it was very like. Abel Newt grinned; his lips moved: he
was muttering "Dear Uncle Lawrence."

He stopped writing, and carefully burned, as before, the check and all
the paper. Then covering his face with his hands as he sat, he said to
himself, as the hot, hurried thoughts flickered through his mind,

"Yes, yes, Mrs. Lawrence Newt, I shall not be master of Pinewood, but
I shall be of your husband, and he will be master of your property.
Practice makes perfect. Dear Uncle Lawrence shall be my banker."

His brain reeled and whirled as he sat. He remembered the words of his
friend the General: "Abel Newt was not born to fail."

"No, by God!" he shouted, springing up, and clenching his hands.

He staggered. The walls of the room, the floor, the ceiling, the
furniture heaved and rolled before his eyes. In the wild tumult that
overwhelmed his brain as if he were sinking in gurgling whirlpools--the
peaceful lawn of Pinewood--the fight with Gabriel--the running
horses--the "Farewell forever, Miss Wayne"--the shifting chances of
his subsequent life--Grace Plumer blazing with diamonds--the figure
of his father drumming with white fingers upon his office-desk--Lawrence
and Gabriel pushing him out--they all swept before his consciousness in
the moment during which he threw out his hands wildly, clutched at the
air, and plunged headlong upon the floor, senseless.

CHAPTER LXXV.

REMINISCENCE.

On the ve