to sing in concerts, until her mind gave way, when he put her in a private asylum in San Francisco.  I was very proud of her, and loved her more than she ever knew, but could not confess my relationship to her.  When she married Candida I cast her off.  She must have some of my spirit, for she never came begging for favors.  Her rascally second husband wrote once for money, but I shut him up so that he never wrote again, and the next I heard was a message from Santa Barbara, where he died, and where, before he died, he had bidden his physician to write to me that his wife was in an asylum in San Francisco.  I found her and brought her home, shattered in health and in mind, but I think she will recover.  If she does before I die, I have sworn to tell her the truth, and will do it, so help me God!

“She has at times spoken of a baby who died,—­Smith’s probably, and I hated him and did not care for his child.  I have thought to make my will, but would rather write this confession, which will explain things and put Amy right as my heir.  I have, however, one request to make to her, or those who attend to her affairs.  I want my nephew, Howard, to have twenty thousand dollars,—­enough for any young man to start on if there is any get-up in him, and Howard has considerable.

“Written by me and signed this —­ day of July, 18—­, the anniversary of Eudora’s funeral and the big picnic on my grounds.

“JAMES M. CROMPTON.”

CHAPTER X

HOWARD’S TEMPTATION

Howard did not know how long it took him to read this paper.  It seemed to him an age, and when it was read he felt as if turning into stone.  There was a fire in the grate before which he sat, and something said to him, “Burn it,” so distinctly, that he looked over his shoulder to see who was there.  “It’s the devil,” he thought, and his hand went toward the flame, then drew back quickly.  He knew now what his uncle had tried so hard to tell them, and remembered how often his eyes had turned in the direction of the private drawer.  He had put his confession there, and it had become wedged in and was out of sight, until frequent opening and shutting the drawer had brought it into view.  He read the document again, and felt the perspiration oozing out of every pore.  The twenty thousand recommended for him made him laugh, as he thought that was the sum he had intended for Amy, and which looked very small for his own needs.  “Six times two are twelve,” he said, calculating the interest at six per cent.  “Twelve hundred a year is not much when one expected as many thousands.  I believe I’ll burn it!” and again the paper was held so near the fire that a corner of it was scorched.

“I can’t do it,” he said, drawing it back a second time.  “It would do no good, either, if they find out in Florida.  I don’t see, though, how they can, and if they have, Jack would have written, but I can’t burn it yet.  I must think a while.”