had
determined to do so. Law had not laid its finger upon him, but its
finger was over him. He had not yet crossed the line that made him
legally a criminal, but the line was drawn before him, and only another
step would be necessary to place him beyond it. A brood of fears was
gathering around him. They stood back, glaring upon him from the
distance; but they only waited another act in his career of dishonor to
crowd in and surround him with menace. Sometimes he shrank from his
purpose, but the shame of being impoverished and beaten spurred him
renewedly to determination. He became conscious that what there was of
bravery in him was sinking into bravado. His self-conceit, and what
little he possessed of self-respect, were suffering. He dimly
apprehended the fact that he was a rascal, and it made him
uncomfortable. It ceased to be enough for him to assure himself that he
was no more a rascal than those around him. He reached out on every side
for means to maintain his self-respect. What good thing could he do to
counterbalance his bad deeds? How could he shore himself up by public
praise, by respectable associations, by the obligations of the public
for deeds of beneficence? It is the most natural thing in the world for
the dishonest steward, who cheats his lord, to undertake to win
consideration against contingencies with his lord's money.

On the same evening in which the gathering at the Sevenoaks tavern
occurred, preceding Jim's wedding, Mr. Belcher sat in his library,
looking over the document which nominally conveyed to him the right and
title of Paul Benedict to his inventions. He had done this many times
since he had forged three of the signatures, and secured a fraudulent
addition to the number from the hand of Phipps. He had brought himself
to believe, to a certain extent, in their genuineness, and was wholly
sure that they were employed on behalf of justice. The inventions had
cost Benedict little or no money, and he, Mr. Belcher, had developed
them at his own risk. Without his money and his enterprise they would
have amounted to nothing. If Benedict had not lost his reason, the
document would have been legally signed. The cause of Benedict's lapse
from sanity did not occur to him. He only knew that if the inventor had
not become insane, he should have secured his signature at some wretched
price, and out of this conviction he reared his self-justification.

"It's right!" said Mr. Belcher. "The State prison