confident, a moment too late, that she had exposed some of Mr.
Checkynshaw's business.

"You translated this letter into French for Mr. Checkynshaw--did you?"
asked Fitz, taking the letter from her, and folding up his paper, as he
rose from his chair.

"I did," replied Maggie; for now that the mischief, whatever it was,
had been done, she could only tremble for the consequences.

"If you did, I needn't trouble you to translate it back again," added
Fitz, as he took his hat and left the house very abruptly.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE QUITCLAIM DEED.

"Mother, you are determined to be imposed upon," said Fitz, as he
rushed into the house with the astounding intelligence he had obtained
in Phillimore Court.

"Perhaps you can afford to refuse a gift of ten thousand dollars--I
cannot," replied Mrs. Wittleworth. "I did not ask or beg anything of
Mr. Checkynshaw. He volunteered to give it to me, rather for my
sister's sake than my own, perhaps; but I feel that I ought to take
it."

"Don't touch it, mother!" protested Fitz. "It will be the ruin of you
if you do. Mother, you have no confidence in me. You are willing to
trust almost any one rather than me."

"I judge for myself. It is better to take Mr. Checkynshaw's gift than
to starve."

"O, nonsense, mother! Why will you be so absurd?" groaned Fitz. "Why
will you persist in talking about starving?"

"Why will I, Fitz? Because we have hardly five dollars in the world,
and both of us are out of work."

"But I shall get something to do in a few days. Will you let me bring
the suit against Checkynshaw for the block of stores?"

"No, I will not, Fitz."

"I told you Checkynshaw was imposing upon you, and now I have proved
it."

"What have you proved?"

"I have proved that this letter is a forgery, as I believed it was. It
was translated into French this very day by the barber's daughter. It
was not written by Marguerite, and I knew it was not!" replied Fitz,
triumphantly; and he proceeded to describe in detail the result of his
application to Maggie to translate the letter.

"It doesn't make much difference whether it is a forgery or not," added
the poor woman, in whose mind ten thousand dollars overshadowed every
other consideration.

"Doesn't it!" sneered Fitz, out of patience with his mother.

"Not much. Mr. Checkynshaw says Marguerite is living; and, whether he
means to do right or wrong, he is a man of great wealth and influence,
and we could make n