-when that fearful news reached me. My fellow-merchants
had got all the particulars of the arrest. They told me that two of Mr.
Fauntleroy's fellow-trustees had come up to London to make arrangements
about selling out some stock. On inquiring for Mr. Fauntleroy at the
banking-house, they had been informed that he was not there; and,
after leaving a message for him, they had gone into the City to make
an appointment with their stockbroker for a future day, when their
fellow-trustee might be able to attend. The stock-broker volunteered to
make certain business inquiries on the spot, with a view to saving as
much time as possible, and left them at his office to await his return.
He came back, looking very much amazed, with the information that the
stock had been sold out down to the last five hundred pounds. The affair
was instantly investigated; the document authorizing the selling out
was produced; and the two trustees saw on it, side by side with Mr.
Fauntleroy's signature, the forged signatures of their own names. This
happened on the Friday, and the trustees, without losing a moment, sent
the officers of justice in pursuit of Mr. Fauntleroy. He was arrested,
brought up before the magistrate, and remanded on the Saturday. On
the Monday I heard from my friends the particulars which I have just
narrated.

But the events of that one morning were not destined to end even yet. I
had discovered the failure of the bank and the arrest of Mr. Fauntleroy.
I was next to be enlightened, in the strangest and the saddest manner,
on the difficult question of his innocence or his guilt.

Before my friends had left my office--before I had exhausted the
arguments which my gratitude rather than my reason suggested to me in
favor of the unhappy prisoner--a note, marked immediate, was placed in
my hands, which silenced me the instant I looked at it. It was written
from the prison by Mr. Fauntleroy, and it contained two lines only,
entreating me to apply for the necessary order, and to go and see him
immediately.

I shall not attempt to describe the flutter of expectation, the strange
mixture of dread and hope that agitated me when I recognized his
handwriting, and discovered what it was that he desired me to do. I
obtained the order and went to the prison. The authorities, knowing the
dreadful situation in which he stood, were afraid of his attempting to
destroy himself, and had set two men to watch him. One came out as they
opened his