“Here is the order for the money;” and with a feeling of natural triumph, Anthony took the order from his pocket-book.

“Is it possible!  The philosopher’s stone is no fable, if words of yours could extract gold from a heart of flint.  Brave Anthony! you have wrought a miracle.  But let me look at the order.  Seeing’s believing; and I cannot believe such an improbable thing without I witness it with my own eyes.”

“Nay, convince yourself of the truth, Godfrey.  What object can I have in attempting to deceive you?  It would be against my own interest so to do, as you are still my debtor for two hundred pounds.”

Godfrey took the paper from his cousin’s hand, and went to the table to examine it by the light.  As he glanced over the contents he gave a sudden exclamation of surprise, and a smile curled his lip.

“Do you believe me now?” said Anthony, who knew not exactly how to interpret the dubious expression of Godfrey’s face.

“Read for yourself,” returned Godfrey, giving back the paper.  “When you deal with such an accomplished scoundrel as Mark Hurdlestone, you should give the devil a retaining fee.”

“What do you mean, Godfrey?” and his cousin eagerly snatched the paper from his grasp.  “He has not dared to deceive me!”

Still, as he read, his countenance fell, a deadly paleness suddenly pervaded his features, and uttering a faint moan, in which all the bitter disappointment he experienced was visibly concentrated, he sank down in a swoon at Godfrey’s feet.

“What on earth’s the matter with the lad?” said Mathews, as he assisted Godfrey in lifting him to the sofa.  “What’s in the wind?”

“A capital joke,” whispered Godfrey.  “I could almost love the old sinner for his caustic humor.  The order for the money is drawn up in the usual manner, but instead of the words ‘To pay,’ the crafty old fox has written, ‘Not to pay the bearer the sum of four hundred pounds.’”

“Excellent!  But let old skinflint look to himself; with that malignant joke he has signed his own death-warrant.”

Anthony by this time had recovered from his swoon.  But he sat like one stupefied; his throbbing temples resting upon his hands, and his eyes fixed on vacancy.  Godfrey’s voice at length roused him to a recollection of what had happened, and in faint tones, he requested his two companions to leave him.

“Not in this state of mind.  Come, Anthony, clear up that cloudy brow.  I am sorry, sorry that I have been the means of drawing you into this ugly scrape, but for my poor father’s sake you must forgive me.  If you were to make a second application to your ungracious dad, he might, in the hope of ridding himself of such an importunate beggar, give down the two hundred pounds yet wanting.  Such a decrease in your demand might work wonders.  What think you?  Matters cannot be worse between you than they are at present.”

Anthony recalled his father’s parting look—­his parting words.