ou say that that is
not an exact copy of a letter that was written by your hand?"

"Well, you have me there, Sherwood, so I may as well own up. I was going to
do a bit of shrewd business for myself, but someone seems to have got ahead
of me. Now I look at this writing, it is singularly like the writing on my
tombstone," he added, as he studied the letter before him; "but, of course,
it isn't possible."

Receiving no answer, he looked up at Mr. Sherwood and seemed to read the
truth in his face.

"You don't mean to say that my conjecture is right?"

"Yes, Dexie's thoughtfulness and quick perception have saved me a good
thousand. Your doings on Prince Edward Island were made known to her in a
singular manner, and she was sharp enough to see the advantage that an
exact copy of your letter would be to me; and as your letter was placed in
her hands quite unexpectedly, she copied it. You and I must part. I'll have
no schemer like you for a partner any longer. I'll not have my name mixed
up with such doubtful dealings."

High words followed, but as Mr. Sherwood had the upper hand, Plaisted was
obliged to submit to his decision, and he soon left the room to collect his
belongings, having received a peremptory dismissal.

"There is one satisfaction that I wish you would grant me, Sherwood," he
said, turning as he reached the door, "Tell me how your daughter chanced
upon that letter." "No, that you need not know; but it was by the merest
accident, and was as great a surprise to her as it has been to me. But she
was sharp enough to see how important her information was, and knew that a
copy of your letter was the best guarantee she could bring me of your
craftiness."

"Sharp! yes, that is just the word for her. She is like a bunch of nettles,
stinging you if you but touch her. She has contrived to give me an
unpleasant memory of her every time I have been here. And so it is to her I
owe this break in our business intercourse;" and with flushed face and
flashing eyes he left the room, and before night he was journeying toward
the "land of the free," a sadder, and, let us hope, a wiser man.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

"Hope long deferred maketh the heart sick," and Hugh became dull and
morose; the happiness he hoped for seemed as far off as ever, and the
continued disappointment was making his life bitter. Mrs. Gurney saw the
change, and tried to persuade Hugh to go abroad. This he longed to do, but
waited; he might yet go ab