er to
the lawyer, "read it for yourself." Then he resumed his playing.

Mr. Bonnithorne fixed his nose-glasses, and read:

"I am writing to thank you very much for your kind remembrance of me,
it was almost like having your company, I live in hopes of seeing you
soon, when are you coming to me? Sometimes I think you will never,
never come, and then I can't help crying though I try not to, and I
don't cry much. I don't go out very often London is far away, six
miles, there are nice people here and nice children. Only think when
my trouble is over and you come and take me home. How is poor
father, does he look much older does he fret for me now? I wonder
will he know me. I am quite well, only there is something the matter
in my eyes. Sometimes when I wake up I can't see plain. Don't be long
writing. My eyes are very sore and red to-day, and it is oh so lonely
in this strange place. Mrs. Drayton is kind to me. Good-bye. She has
a son, but he is always at meets, that is races, and I have never
seen him. Write soon to your loving Mercy. The time is near."

Hugh played on while Mr. Bonnithorne read. The lawyer, when he came to
the end, handed the letter back with the simple comment:

"Came this morning, you say? It was written last Tuesday--nearly a week
ago."

Hugh nodded his head over his shoulder, and continued to play. He swayed
to and fro with an easy grace to the long sweeps of the music until the
door opened sharply, and Paul entered with a firm step. Then he rose,
picked a pen from the inkstand, and dipped it in the ink.

Paul wore a suit of rough, light cloth, with leggins, and a fur cap,
which he did not remove. His face was pale; decision sat on every line
of it.

"Excuse me, Mr. Bonnithorne, if I don't shake hands," he said in his
deep voice; "I'm at work, and none too clean."

"This," said Hugh Ritson, twiddling the pen in his fingers, "this is the
deed I spoke of yesterday. You sign there," pointing to a blank space in
front of a little wafer.

Then he placed one hand firmly on the upper part of the parchment, as if
to steady it, and held out the pen.

Paul made no approach to accepting it. He stretched forward, took hold
of the document, and lifted it, casting Hugh's hand aside.

Hugh watched him closely.

"The usual formality," he said, lightly; "nothing more."

Paul passed his eye rapidly over the deed. Then he turned to the lawyer.

"Is this the four