that I was expected to save him from a public death, or transportation for life, to conceal the crime.  I indignantly refused, but I did not know how hard a woman can plead.  I was promised my sister’s property that was settled on her at the death of my father, and she gave me an order to sell out her stock in the public funds, for the purpose of reimbursing me, although I found that I should suffer to the extent of twenty-five thousand pounds by the transaction; but sooner than witness her tears I consented, and, in consequence, was made almost a beggar.”

The old man brushed away a tear that coursed down his rugged cheeks, and for a few minutes seemed lost in thought.  At length he continued:—­

“I assumed the forged notes and paid them as they matured, but the public discovered that I had made many sacrifices in my business to meet the spurious paper, and then came doubts and suspicions, and at last a run upon my house, and to save myself I called upon my sister for her fortune.  God of heaven! how I felt when I discovered that the villain, her husband, had already used her name, drawn her money from the funds, and had left for some part of the world where we could not trace him.

“I sank beneath the blow, and when I rallied my business was swept away, and the firm of Critchet was known only by its debts.  I struggled for a time against the stream, but I could not gain a foothold, and at last yielded and gave up all thoughts of resuming business.  My family was supported by a small settlement of one hundred pounds which had been left to my wife by an aunt, and by music lessons which my daughter was enabled to give, and thus we struggled along, until at length my sister, who could not bear up under her disgrace, died and left me her child to provide for.  Well, I undertook the task, and when I had failed to resuscitate my fortunes in England, I left for Australia and brought him with me.”

“And you have never heard of his father since?” I asked.

“No.”

“Hullo, house—­grocers—­let me in!” shouted a voice at the door; and a heavy kick was bestowed on the wall to attract our attention.

Mr. Critchet started from his seat, and then sank back to the floor with a groan.

CHAPTER LXIII.

THE SAME, CONTINUED.

“Are you sick?” we demanded, springing towards the prostrate man and helping him to a chair.

“I know not,” he replied, wildly; “but unless I am dreaming, I heard a voice demanding admittance to the store.  Do not open the door, for mercy’s sake.  I cannot bear to look upon his face again.”

“Poor man,” muttered Fred; “his story has affected him to such a degree that his mind wanders.  Let us put him to bed as soon as possible, for fear of a return of the fever.”

“You are mistaken, young men, if you think that fever or a diseased imagination has caused my emotion.  See, I am perfectly calm.”