e would hear
of it, and require proofs of Christopher's decease, whereas they had
accepted it without a murmur, on the evidence of Captain Hamilton and
the Amphitrite's log-book.

As for Falcon, he went carefully through Staines's two letters, and
wherever he found a word that suited his purpose, he traced it by the
usual process, and so, in the course of a few hours, he concocted a
short letter, all the words in which, except three, were facsimiles,
only here and there a little shaky; the three odd words he had
to imitate by observation of the letters. The signature he got to
perfection by tracing.

He inserted this letter in the original envelope, and sealed it very
carefully, so as to hide that the seal had been tampered with.

Thus armed, he went down to Gravesend. There he hired a horse and rode
to Kent Villa.

Why he hired a horse, he knew how hard it is to forge handwriting, and
he chose to have the means of escape at hand.

He came into the drawing-room, ghastly pale, and almost immediately gave
her the letter; then turned his back, feigning delicacy. In reality he
was quaking with fear lest she should suspect the handwriting. But the
envelope was addressed by Staines, and paved the way for the letter;
she was unsuspicious and good, and her heart cried out for her husband's
last written words: at such a moment, what chance had judgment and
suspicion in an innocent and loving soul?

Her eloquent sighs and sobs soon told the caitiff he had nothing to
fear.

The letter ran thus:--

MY OWN ROSA,--All that a brother could do for a beloved brother, Falcon
has done. He nursed me night and day. But it is vain. I shall never see
you again in this world. I send you a protector, and a father to your
child. Value him. He has promised to be your stay on earth, and my
spirit shall watch over you.--To my last breath, your loving husband,

CHRISTOPHER STAINES.

Falcon rose, and began to steal on tiptoe out of the room.

Rosa stopped him. "You need not go," said she. "You are our friend. By
and by I hope I shall find words to thank you."

"Pray let me retire a moment," said the hypocrite. "A husband's last
words: too sacred--a stranger:" and he went out into the garden. There
he found the nursemaid Emily, and the little boy.

He stopped the child, and made love to the nursemaid; showed her his
diamonds--he carried them all about him--told her he had thirty thousand
acres in Cape Colony, and diamonds on them;