ted foliage of
autumn.

I entered. The old portraits I had loved seemed to smile; they saluted me
sweetly, as in other hours; the old mansion appeared to welcome me--I saw
no change, but Annie was not singing in the hall.

All at once I heard a light tinkling footstep; my heart beat violently,
and I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. Was the queenly woman who came to
meet and greet me, indeed the Annie of old days? I held the small hand,
and looked into the deep eyes for some moments without uttering a word.
She was taller, more slender, but her carriage possessed a grace and
elegance a thousand times finer than before. Her eyes were filled with the
strangest sweetness, and swam with tears as she gazed at me.

"Papa has been waiting impatiently for you, Mr. Cleave," she said, in a
low, sad voice; "will you come up and see him at once? he is very ill."

And turning away her head, the fair girl burst into uncontrollable sobs,
every one of which went to my heart. I begged her earnestly not to yield
to her distress, and she soon dried her eyes, and led the way into the
parlor, where I was received by Mrs. Barrington, still cold and stiff, but
much more subdued and courteous. Annie went to announce my arrival to her
father, and soon I was alone with the old man.

I was grieved and shocked at his appearance. He seemed twenty years older.
I scarcely recognized in the pale, thin, invalid, the portly country
gentleman whom I had known.

The motive for his letter was soon explained. The executorial accounts,
whose terrible disarrangement I had aided, five years before, in
remedying, still hung over the dying man's head, like a nightmare. He
could not die, he said, with the thought in his mind, that any one might
attribute this disorder to intentional maladministration--"to fraud, it
might be."

And at the word "fraud," his wan cheek became crimson.

"My own affairs, Mr. Cleave," he continued, "are, I find, in a most
unhappy condition. I have been far too negligent; and now, on my
death-bed, for such it will prove, I discover, for the first time, that I
am well-nigh a ruined man!"

He spoke with wild energy as he went on. I, in vain, attempted to impress
upon him, the danger of exciting himself.

"I must explain everything, and in my own way," he said, with burning
cheeks, "for I look to you to extricate me. I have appointed you, Mr.
Cleave, my chief executor; but, above all, I rely upon you, I adjure you,
to protect my g