th this he took the
autographs on which his forgeries were based. Then he sat down by
himself, and thought the matter all over, while Talbot waited in another
room. It was only by a desperate determination that he started at last,
called Talbot down stairs, put on his hat, and went out.

It seemed to the proprietor, as he emerged from his house, that there
was something weird in the morning light. He looked up, and saw that the
sky was clear. He looked down, and the street was veiled in a strange
shadow. The boys looked at him as if they were half startled.
Inquisitive faces peered at him from a passing omnibus. A beggar laughed
as he held out his greasy hat. Passengers paused to observe him. All
this attention, which he once courted and accepted as flattery and fame,
was disagreeable to him.

"Good God! Toll, what has happened since last night?" he said, as he
sank back upon the satin cushions of the coupe.

"General, I don't think you're quite well. Don't die now. We can't spare
you yet."

"Die? Do I look like it?" exclaimed Mr. Belcher, slapping his broad
chest. "Don't talk to me about dying. I haven't thought about that yet."

"I beg your pardon. You know I didn't mean to distress you."

Then the conversation dropped, and the carriage wheeled on. The roll of
vehicles, the shouting of drivers, the panoramic scenes, the flags
swaying in the morning sky, the busy throngs that went up and down
Broadway, were but the sights and sounds of a dimly apprehended dream.
He was journeying toward guilt. What would be its end? Would he not be
detected in it at the first step? How could he sit before the hawk-eyed
man whom he was about to meet without in some way betraying his secret?

When the coupe stopped, Talbot roused his companion with difficulty.

"This can't be the place, Toll. We haven't come half a mile."

"On the contrary, we have come three miles."

"It can't be possible, Toll. I must look at your horse. I'd no idea you
had such an animal."

Then Mr. Belcher got out, and looked the horse over. He was a
connoisseur, and he stood five minutes on the curb-stone, expatiating
upon those points of the animal that pleased him.

"I believe you came to see Mr. Cavendish," suggested Talbot with a
laugh.

"Yes, I suppose I must go up. I hate lawyers, anyway."

They climbed the stairway. They knocked at Mr. Cavendish's door. A boy
opened it, and took in their cards. Mr. Cavendish was busy, but would
see them in fi