infamous forgery, the nefarious work of some miscreant who was plotting to ruin us all. The last letter was as follows:
'"Miss St. Clair,
'"I knew you when you lived in Devonshire. I am an old friend of your father's. I struck a blow for him when he died, and killed the man who killed him. This is Gospel fact. I live now in London—rather too far from you to do you the service I would wish, but I have seen you several times. The days are evil. I am a God-fearing man. You are in great danger in this London. You must fly from the place, If you do not, you will fall into a pit from which even death itself cannot afford you the means of escape—at least, for your memory and immortal reputation. Do not marry J. W.; he is a son of Belial and perdition. Say you will fly, and I will honourably help you. An old woman will call at W.'s shop-door on Saturday, at nine p.m. Ask her from whom she comes, and she will say from D. Address your reply to D., and sign it C. Destroy this at once."
'In an alarmed consultation with Helen and Agnes, we decided to take no notice whatever of these letters; but my beloved bride-elect insisted on a further postponement of of our marriage. In vain I urged her to comply, and let it take place at once, privately if she wished it, but she replied that although her heart was mine, yet she believed that our earthly marriage was not ordained in Heaven.
'The letter importing to be from Mr. Kerford was also I believed, a forgery. It was evidently designed to decoy me to the Club on the very night when the members were arrested. If found upon me after my arrest it would have been sufficient to seal my doom. Here there was cold-blooded diabolical wickedness; but, as it said, the apple
