for the priesthood, who were destitute of means, and anxious to enter holy orders.  The residue of his princely fortune, he wished applied to furnishing capital for a bank for the poor, where, by making small deposits in seasons of health and prosperity, they would be entitled to loans without interest, in ill-health, sickness, or hard times.  To Walter Jerrold, in the event of his marrying Helen Stillinghast, his warehouse, then occupied by Stillinghast & Co., and whatever merchandise it contained.  It was all put into legal form by the attorney—­no technicality was omitted that might endanger the prompt execution of his wishes—­not a letter or dot left out.  Mr. Fielding read it aloud.

“Add a codicil, Fielding—­a codicil.  I wish my legacies to the church to be placed in the hands, and under the control, and at the will of, the Archbishop of Baltimore.  For the rest, I name you sole executor.  Have you finished?  Let me sign it; then ask those gentlemen,” he said, pointing to Father Fabian and Dr. Burrell, who had been engaged in a low-toned conversation at the window, to “witness it.”

They came forward, saw him sign his name in full, clear characters, then appended their own signatures; after which, Mr. Stillinghast fell back exhausted on his pillow, and, while an expression of rest settled on his pale, time-worn features, he exclaimed,

“It is all right, now, Fielding.  Now, my God, I am free; my burden, under which I have toiled through misspent years, is cast away.  I am free!”

“Courage, my friend; you have done a good work—­a work worthy of a dying Christian, and may the blessing of Almighty God rest on it and you,” said Father Fabian, who made over him the sign of the cross, while he blessed him in the name of the Holy Trinity.

Mr. Fielding placed the will in a large white envelope, which he laid on the bed beside Mr. Stillinghast, and took leave, hoping that when he saw him in the morning he would be much better.  The doctor prevailed on him to swallow a restorative which he had brought, after which, he grew more composed, and gave the will to May, and directed her to lay it on the shelf of a small, narrow closet, on the left side of the fireplace.  As she did so, she saw another envelope like it, marked “Will;” also a number of packages—­bonds, deeds, mortgages, and receipts, tied up in small; compact bundles, packed in between the shelves.  But she felt no interest there; and quickly returning to her uncle’s pillow, was glad to see that he had fallen into a profound sleep.  Helen, who had been hovering about the door, and around the room, in and out, for the last half hour, came in again, and asked May if “she should not relieve her by taking her post, while her uncle slept?”

“No, dear Helen, he might awake and miss me; and he has requested me not to leave him until death releases his soul.  Do you attend to the affairs of the house—­I will watch here.”