The end of his wrong
career will be the gallows. I have dreamt of it for years. O God! that I
should have begotten such a profligate and miscreant into the world!"

The old man made another pause, and then said, with a calmness that
surprised his hearers. "Now I am ready to hear all."

"And you shall," said Marcus, "though it pains me, my dear friend, to
tell you what we know of your son. I will say, however, that there is
no proof directly connecting him with the murder."

"He is cunning and covers his tracks," said the wretched parent. "I know
him well."

Marcus then exhibited the letters. Mr. Van Quintem compared them
carefully, but could not detect the least trace of resemblance. But, on
examining the envelopes, at the suggestion of Fayette Overtop, he at
once recognized the Hogarthian curve as a mark which he had always
observed on his son's letters.

"I could almost swear to this mark; and yet it is possible that he did
not write the letters. Bad as he is, I will wait for further proofs.
Please tell me all else that you know, Mr. Wilkeson."

"With regard to the letter written to Miss Minford," said Marcus, "there
is, unhappily, but little doubt; as this lad, who was well acquainted
with the Minford family, can inform you."

The boy Bog, very reluctantly, and with many awkward breaks, and
swingings of his cap, repeated the history of the first letter, and
described the young man's person most minutely, and told how he had
followed him in his wild rambles about the town.

The old man listened sadly and quietly; only now and then interrupting
the boy's narrative with questions that were seemingly as calm as a
judge's interrogatories.

"He is a murderer. Something in the air tells me that he is," murmured
the old man. "And he is my son."

The inexpressible heart-broken sadness, with which he uttered these
words, brought tears to the eyes of his hearers.

"It may be, my dear Mr. Van Quintem, that your son did not write the
anonymous letters to Mr. Minford, notwithstanding the point of
resemblance which we think we have detected. While sitting, at my
window, I have often noticed him in his room scribbling at a desk, as if
he were practising penmanship. Perhaps, if you examine the contents of
the desk, you may get some further light on the subject. It is
wonderful--most people would say impossible--that a man should write
two letters so entirely dissimilar as these."

"My son always excelled in writing. I