There had been an indefinable something in Margaret’s manner during her interview with the copyist, which left an unpleasant impression upon his mind. The guilt, of which he was secretly conscious, increased his natural cowardice. He felt that, on all accounts, it would be better to lose no time in his anticipated removal. He had intended to leave the next day. He would go to-day.

Acting upon this resolution, he began to pack the contents of the drawers into a trunk. He was in the midst of this occupation, when a knock was heard at the door.

“Come in,” he said, carelessly, without at once turning to the door.

Mr. Sharp entered, and coughed slightly, with the design of attracting the scrivener’s attention.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Jacob; “I am quite busy, preparing for a removal. Could you defer your business till,—say day after to-morrow?”

Our lawyer was one who never, under any circumstances, lost his politeness. With an affability which seemed indicative of the kindest feelings, he said, affably, “I believe I address Mr. Wynne?”

“You are right,” said Jacob, who still labored under the impression that the lawyer was one who required his services as copyist.

“Mr. Jacob Wynne?”

“Yes.”

“A copyist?”

“Yes, but I fear that I shall not be able to accommodate you to-day, being, as you see, on the point of removal.”

“You mistake my errand, Mr. Wynne. I have no doubt that you are a skilful copyist. Indeed, I have great reason to think so, and do not doubt that, if I were in need of anything in your line, I should find it worth while to apply to you.”

“What, then, is your business?” demanded Jacob, mystified.

“I regret to say, Mr. Wynne,” said Mr. Sharp, losing none of his affability, “that I have an unpleasant duty to perform. I have obtained a warrant for your arrest.”

“My arrest!” repeated the copyist, his sallow face exhibiting unmistakable terror.

“I regret to say so.”

“On what charge?” ejaculated Jacob, too well surmising its nature.

“Forgery.”

Jacob’s lips became bloodless, and his cheeks assumed an ashen hue, for at heart he was a very coward. In the moment of trial, none could be more craven.

“I regret to disturb you,” said Mr. Sharp, stepping back to the door and opening it. “Mr. Officer, you will do your duty.”

An officer, who had been stationed just outside the door, now entered, and formally arrested Jacob Wynne.

It is scarcely possible for a human being to exhibit more abject terror than the miserable copyist, under this unforeseen blow. All his strength seemed to have departed from him. When commanded by the officer to rise and accompany him, he attempted to do so; but his limbs trembled so, that he was scarcely able to comply.

“A clear case,” thought the lawyer.

“Really, my dear friend,” said Mr. Sharp, in a tone of expostulation, “you are suffering your feelings to run away with you. You must be more calm and collected.”

“Is there no way of escape?” asked Jacob, in a tone of agonizing entreaty. “Oh, spare me, gentlemen, and indeed you shall be well rewarded. See, I have gold!” and he hurriedly unlocked a desk on the table beside him. “Take what you will, but let me go.”

Mr. Sharp’s eyes glistened as he caught sight of the gold; but, perceiving no way in which he could avail himself of it, he assumed a tone of outraged integrity.

“What, sir!” he exclaimed; “can you, for an instant, suppose that we would be guilty of interfering with the course of justice for a paltry bribe? Thank Heaven!” he continued, fervently; “my integrity was never called in question. Through a long and varied professional career, I have steadily resisted all the temptations which have been brought to bear upon me. Not though your bribe were a thousand times as large, would I hesitate for a moment. Far better poverty and the consciousness of unsullied integrity, than wealth and a dishonored name! I have no doubt my worthy companion unites with me in this sentiment.”

“Of course I do,” said that functionary, gruffly.

“Then is there no chance?” asked Jacob, looking appealing from one to the other.

“Of course, if you are innocent, you will be discharged from custody. The law only punishes the guilty.”

This remark did not seem to yield Jacob much comfort.

“I am sorry to hurry you,” said the officer; “but I cannot wait much longer.”

Jacob rose feebly, and descended the stairs supported by the officer.

When the wretched copyist came in sight of the Tombs, his strength again deserted him, and he became as weak as an infant. Supported on either side he passed through the portal, and the heavy door swung back upon its hinges.

When he had been conducted to his cell and left alone, he flung himself in an agony of terror and apprehension upon the pallet, clenching his hands in impotent fury, while he muttered to himself, “Margaret has done this! Margaret has done this!”