le of shirts and underclothing. These he
hastily removed, and peered about for papers. In one corner was a book
of deposits on a city savings-bank. Led by curiosity, Maurice opened
it. He saw a long line of deposits, covering several pages, for Gilbert
had been in the habit of making a weekly deposit, even the first year,
for, though his income was small, he had nothing to pay for board, and
this was, of course, a great help.

"How much has the fellow got?" thought Maurice.

He made a hurried calculation, and, to his astonishment and envy,
learned that our hero had seven hundred and sixty dollars deposited to
his credit.

"Almost eight hundred dollars, and I haven't a cent," he muttered,
discontentedly. Then there came the thought that if he found the paper,
he might count upon a hundred dollars, and his good spirits returned.
Underneath the bank-book were two letters, written to him by Mordaunt
while absent on a pleasure-trip not long before, and under these was a
sheet of quarto paper, which appeared to be written upon.

"That may be the paper," thought Maurice, and he took it in his hands
with eager anticipations. Turning to the end he read the signature,
"Jacob Morton." A slight examination of the contents satisfied him that
it was the paper he wanted.

"Success! success!" he ejaculated, exultingly. "My hundred dollars are
safe. Now, Gilbert Grey, your hopes are dashed to the earth, and you
won't know who has done it for you."

There was no need of waiting longer. He put back the contents of the
trunk hastily, with the exception of the paper, which he folded, and
put carefully in his breast-pocket. Then locking the trunk, he went
down stairs, and let himself out by the front door, without meeting any
one.

"I didn't think I'd succeed so easily," he thought. "Now I'll go round
to the Burnet House and get my hundred dollars. It pays to have a
headache, sometimes."

Arrived at the Burnet House he found that Mr. Grey was out, and decided
to wait for him. He remained in the reading-room, reading the papers,
impatient for the return of his employer. As he sat there, Mr. Grey,
who had been told at the desk that some one was waiting to see him,
entered.

"Ah! my young friend," he said, affably, "well, have you any news for
me?"

"Yes," said Maurice.

"What is it?"

"Hadn't we better go up stairs?"

"It may be better. But, in one word, is it success or failure?"

"Success," said Maurice.

"Good!" exclai