uld, and did too; and many's the time I said to myself,
'If Beecher was n't a top-sawyer, what a trump he 'd be! He has head
for anything, and address for anything.' And do you know,"--here
Grog dropped his-voice to a whisper, and spoke as if under great
emotion,--"and do you know that I could n't be the same man to you
myself just because of your rank? That was the reason I used to be so
sulky, so suspicious, and so--ay, actually cruel with you, telling you,
as I did, what could n't I do with certain acceptances? Now, look here,
Beecher--Light that taper beside you; there's a match in that box at
your elbow."

Unsteady enough was Beecher's hand; indeed, it was not wine alone now
made him tremble. An intense agitation shook his frame, and he shivered
like one in an ague fit. He couldn't tell what was coming; the theme
alone was enough to arrest all process of reasoning on his part. It was
like the force of a blow that stunned and stupefied at once.

"There, that will do," said Grog, as he drew a long pocket-book from
his breast-pocket, and searched for some time amongst its contents. "Ay,
here they are; two--three--four of them,--insignificant-looking scraps
of paper they look; and yet there's a terrible exposure in open court,
a dreary sea-voyage over the ocean, and a whole life of a felon's
suffering in those few lines."

"For the love of mercy, Davis, if you have a spark of pity in your
heart,--if you have a heart at all,--don't speak in this way to me!"
cried Beecher, in a voice almost choked with sobs.

"It is for the last time in my life you'll ever hear such words," said
Grog, calmly. "Read them over carefully; examine them well. Yes, I wish
and require it."

"Oh, I know them well!" said Beecher, with a heavy sigh. "Many's the
sleepless night the thought of them has cost me."

"Go over every line of them; satisfy yourself that they 're the
same,--that the words 'Johnstone Howard' are in your own hand."

Beecher bent over the papers; but, with his dimmed eyes and trembling
fingers, it was some time ere he could decipher them. A sigh from the
very bottom of his heart was all the reply he could make.

"They'll never cost you another sleepless night, old fellow!" said
Davis, as he held them over the flame of the taper. "There's the end of
'em now!"

CHAPTER XII. REFLECTIONS OF ANNESLEY BEECHER

A wiser head than that of Annesley Beecher might have felt some
confusion on awaking the morning after the