his exit, the house will
become a tomb, to which, just two weeks from to-day, John Poindexter
will be called again, and in words which will lead to a demolition which
will disclose--what? Let us not forestall the future, our horrible
future, by inquiring. But Thomas, shall Bartow go? Shall I not by signs
he comprehends more readily than other men comprehend speech indicate to
him on his downward passage to the street that I wish him to wait and
open the door to the man whom we have promised to overwhelm in his hour
of satisfaction and pride? You have only to write a line--see! I have
made a copy of the words you must use, lest your self-command should be
too severely taxed. These words left on this table for his
inspection--for you must go and Eva remain--will tell him all he needs
to know from you. The rest can come from my lips after he has read the
signature, which in itself will confound him and prepare the way for
what I have to add. Have you anything to say against this plan?
Anything, I mean, beyond what you have hitherto urged? Anything that I
will consider or which will prevent my finger from pressing the button
on which it rests?"

I took up the paper. It was lying on the table, where it had evidently
been inscribed simultaneously with or just before our entrance into the
house, and slowly read the few lines I saw written upon it. You know
them, but they will acquire a new significance from your present
understanding of their purpose and intent:

I return you back your daughter. Neither she nor you will ever see
me again. Remember Evelyn!

AMOS'S SON.

"You wish me to sign these words, to put them into my own handwriting,
and so to make them mine? Mine!" I repeated.

"Yes, and to leave them here on this table for him to see when he
enters. He might not believe any mere statement from me in regard to
your intentions."

I was filled with horror. Love, life, human hopes, the world's
friendships--all the possibilities of existence, swept in one
concentrated flood of thought and feeling through my outraged
consciousness, and I knew I could never put my name to such a blasphemy
of all that was sacred to man's soul. Tossing the paper in his face, I
cried:

"You have gone too far! Better her death, better mine, better the
destruction of us all, than such dishonor to the purest thing heaven
ever made. I refuse, Felix--I refuse. And may God have mercy on us all!"

The moment was ghastly. I saw