He may be poor, and quite unknown,

In rank there may be men above him;

But my heart beats for him alone,

You ask the reason; this--I love him!

The next morning Beaumont examined the important document, upon which hung the fate of his scheme, in order to see by the searching light of day if a close scrutiny would reveal in any palpable degree his alterations. According to his expectations, it appeared eminently satisfactory, for the words he had inserted had turned quite black, and assumed the ebon tint of the rest of the handwriting, so to an ordinary observer the entire document appeared to have been written by one person. True, if it were submitted to experts in a court of law, the forgery might be detected; but Beaumont was quite satisfied in his own mind that the paper would never have to stand such a test. The directions in the will, the production of the paper and seal-ring mentioned therein, and the evidence of Patience Allerby as to the birth of Reginald, would be quite strong enough evidence to put him in possession of the property, even if Una should contest the affair, which he knew she would not do when she found that the heir who ousted her from her rightful position was Reginald Blake.

Being therefore perfectly satisfied, Mr. Beaumont took the envelope, directed by the Squire to Reginald Blake, at the Vicarage, and having placed some new wax on the closing fold, he stamped it with the Garsworth arms by means of the seal ring. Then placing the document he had so carefully prepared inside, together with the ring, he melted the under portion of the wax till it became soft and firmly closed the letter so that no one, from its appearance, could detect the fraud.

This being done, he placed the important letter, together with the keys given to him by Nestley, in his breast coat pocket, and set off gaily to the Grange, in order to place it where it could be easily found.

He had invented some trivial explanation to give to Una and Miss Cassy should he meet them before carrying out his plan, and, of course, on having done so, the mission of delivering the keys to Una would be ample excuse for his intrusion on their grief. Fate, however, stood his friend, for by going round to a side door he was enabled to enter the house, and go to the housekeeper's room, unseen by anyone, save Jellicks, who admitted him.

Patience, looking pale and worn, arose to receive him, and he half dreaded to glance at her lest she had altered her mind. Her first remark, however, reassured him at once.

"Have you arranged everything?" she asked eagerly.

"Yes! Here is the precious document," he replied, producing the envelope, "and here are the keys of the Squire's desk."

"Where did you get them?"

"From Nestley; he gave them to me to return to Miss Challoner, as I intend to do after placing this letter in the Squire's desk. There's no time to be lost, Patience--take me up to the room at once."

"Wait a moment," she replied cautiously, growing a shade paler. "I'd better go and see that Miss Cassy and Miss Una are safe in the oak parlour first. Wait here."

She glided out of the room like a ghost, and after an absence of ten minutes returned to Beaumont with a more composed expression on her face.

"They are at breakfast," she said in a whisper, "no chance of being disturbed by them. Come along, but make no noise. Every sound echoes through this old place."

Silently and stealthily they stole along the dark passages, which, owing to the light filtering through grimy windows, had a dusky appearance. Softly over the echoing pavement of the gloomy hall, up the wide staircase with the old Garsworths frowning on them from the walls, as if they knew their wicked errand, along the chill length of the upper corridor, and then the slow turning of the key in the lock, the gentle opening of the door, and they stood in the presence of the dead.

So still, so lonely, so cold, with the heavy curtains drawn over the wide windows, only admitting faint streaks of light which stole whitely through the heavy atmosphere of the room. On the bed was the black coffin, with the dead man laid therein. On either side tall candles were burning with a sickly light, and the heavy draperies of the bed hung motionless as if frozen with horror. In the dim shadows of the far end of the room, where the faint daylight and the faint candlelight produced an unnatural twilight, stood the desk, and towards it Beaumont stepped with a stealthy activity, suggestive of the sinuosity of a tiger. After him, soft-footed and pale, stole the woman up.

"In which recess did you lock up the letter?" he asked in a low whisper.

She indicated the place with outstretched finger and shuddered as she heard the click of the key turning in the lock. A subdued rustle of papers, a soft, shutting sound, another click as the key turned again, and the first part of the scheme was achieved.

In the shadowy light of the room their faces looked pale and haggard, as they sped silently and rapidly towards the door, as though they feared lest the dead man should arise from his coffin and call upon them to stop. Did no frown pass over that marble face? Did no sound hint to them that a disembodied spirit stood near the bed wailing over the failure of its cherished scheme through the treachery of humanity? No, all was still as the grave as the two companions glided out of the room, along the corridor, down the stairs, and found themselves once more in the housekeeper's room.

"Faugh!" said Beaumont, on whose pale face the beads of perspiration were standing, "what unpleasant work. Give me some brandy."

The housekeeper silently left the room and shortly returned with a liqueur glass of the liquor, which he tossed off rapidly, and the effect was soon seen in the glow which came over his face.

"You ought to have some yourself," he suggested, handing her back the glass.

"I don't require it," she replied coldly. "I'm used to the atmosphere of this house. You are not."

"It's like a charnel-house," he said, with a look of disgust. "Well, I've done my part of the affair. Now, all you've got to do is to swear Reginald is Fanny Blake's son. I'll leave it to your ingenuity to tell a good story."

"You can be certain of that," she replied coldly. "I've done with all scruples, and since it is to enrich my son, you may be sure I will............