t, the little soiled piece of paper which told him in
unmistakable terms that his fortune was made, and the wedding ceremony
once over, that it was beyond all chance of change.

It would seem that the old lady, after her quarrel with her daughters,
went to the library in a rage and made the draft of a new will. The
chief change in it, as compared with the old genuine will which the
conspirators had destroyed, was that it was more favorable to Jane,
Ezra's wife to be. But what gave Ezra the greatest satisfaction was the
fact that Brea's wife was down by name in the new will for one dollar
lawful currency. The will was promptly filed and probated. Ezra gave
bonds and was appointed one of the executors, and he had what to him was
the immense satisfaction of denouncing Brea to his face as a forger and
villain.

Before the discovery of the new will, while it was believed that Mrs.
Brea was an heiress and her credit good, she and her husband had made
use of the fact, and had incurred debts to a large amount. Brea got his
wife to indorse his note for $10,000, and he borrowed that sum from the
bankers, but as soon as the true state of the case was known, his
creditors became clamorous and had him arrested on civil suits. Unable
to give bonds, he was locked up in Ludlow Street Jail, and there he
remained six months, until, acting upon Ezra's advice, the sisters
agreed to pay all his debts and give him and his wife $1,000 each if
they would live west of Chicago. This they were forced to accept, and
went to Montana. Brea opened a saloon at Butte City, but he never
recovered his spirits again. He became his own best customer, and that,
of course, meant ruin, but what, after all, killed him was the knowledge
that he had been for more than a score of days in full possession of
that old house and had spent scores of hours alone in the old library,
and yet had not discovered and destroyed the new will lying there at his
mercy.

The Sheriff soon sold out his saloon, while his wife eloped with his
best friend. Ruined in pocket, health and character, poor old Brea was
left bare to every storm that blew. One morning, as the sun was rising
over the town, surprising half a dozen belated gamblers in Ned Wright's
saloon as they were getting up to leave, they found lying across the
threshold the body of a man, ragged, emaciated, forlorn. It was Brea.

As soon as James had read the will he insisted upon having $5,000 from
Brea at once, and h