Paris or Vienna, he will be saved."

Mr. Forster lost no time in applying for an order to see the prisoner. It was granted at once.

Basil Carruthers—we may use his right name now—looked up in surprise when Mr. Forster, with the paper in his hand, entered the cell.

"Back again?" he said.

"Yes; it is just as I expected; the papers have got hold of your name, and there is a grand expose."

Basil held out his hand and read the paragraph.

"It is enough to make your father rise up from his grave," said the lawyer; "I cannot understand what madness, what infatuation, has come over you, to drag such a proud name as yours through the dust."

"So it is known," said Basil, slowly. "Well, I cannot help it."

"I have done my best," said Mr. Forster. "I have never yet asked you if you stole the watch—the idea is too absurd."

"They are so far right that I was found in the room; nothing else matters."

"I can only imagine that the same folly which has brought you here will keep you here," said Mr. Forster. "The only thing to be done is to send a denial to the papers. If you will write one, I will go to Paris myself to post it."

Basil Carruthers laughed contemptuously.

"I shield myself behind a lie!" he said. "Never!"

"You are too late," replied Mr. Forster; "I have already written, and sent, a very indignant denial, saying you have gone abroad."

Basil's face grew pale, as it had not done during that trial; then an angry fire flashed from his eyes.

"And you have dared to do this?" he cried. "You have dared to publish a lie to screen a Carruthers?"

"I would have dared a great deal more to have saved you from public ignominy," said Mr. Forster.

"Do not apply that word to me!" said Basil, angrily.

"If I do not, every one else will. Your position is ignominious, Mr. Carruthers; the paltry crime you are charged with is the same; and the name that for centuries has been honored in England will be low in the dust, sir. I would rather have been dead than have seen such a day."

The handsome young face changed slightly; evidently these thoughts had not occurred to him; he seemed to seek solace from some inward source of comfort of which the lawyer knew nothing.

"I must bear it," he said, unflinchingly.

"There is but one thing you can do," said Mr. Forster; "only one means of escape—write a letter at once containing a most indignant denial of the identity. I will go myself purposely to Paris and post it there."

"My dear Forster," said the young man with a smile of languid contempt, "I would not ransom my life, even, with a lie!"

"In my opinion," said the lawyer, bluntly, "you have done worse in pleading guilty—you have acted a lie, at least."

"I know my own motive. I am the best judge of my own actions."

"Certainly," was the sarcastic reply. "I should not think any young man of your prospects was ever in such a position before."

"Perhaps, as I said before, no man ever had the same motive," and a look of heroism and high resolve came over his face which astonished the lawyer.

"In the name of your dead father," he said, "who held the honor of his house so dear, I pray of you to write that letter!"

"Not to save my head from the block!" he replied. "I am here, and I must bear all that follows. I had hoped to preserve my incognito. If I cannot, well, I must bear the shame."

"And your mother?" asked the lawyer.

"My poor mother! Perhaps, after all, you had better go down to Ulverston and tell her! She will begin to wonder where I am. Besides, the London house must be attended to."

"If I know Lady Carruthers rightly," said the lawyer, "she will never get over the blow."

"Tell her that I am here, and why, but tell her also that I refuse to give an explanation to any human being. Tell her the honor of the Carruthers seals my lips; try to comfort her if she seems distressed; do all she wishes you."

"How am I to comfort a mother whose eldest and only son has thrown all prudence to the wind; who has disgraced himself so far as to stand in a felon's dock; who has wantonly laid his life bare and waste—for what?"

A strange smile came over the young face.

"Ah! for what! I know; no one else does. There is a reward, and it satisfies me."

"If ever a Carruthers went mad," said Mr. Forster, angrily, "I should say you were mad now!"

Basil paid no heed to the remark.

"The only thing I can do," he said, "I will do. I will go to Vienna as soon as I leave here. I will not remain in London one-half hour."

"I fear your compliance will be too late then," he said. "I must leave you, if I go to Ulverston this evening. I have several matters that I must attend to. Will any persuasion of mine induce you to alter your mind?"

"No; though I thank you for your interest."

And the lawyer left the young man's cell with something like a moan upon his lips.

CHAPTER IV.

Ulverston Priory.

During his walk from the prison to his office, Mr. Forster was stopped several times.

"Is this rumor about young Carruthers true?" asked Sir James Hamlyn, anxiously.

"No," replied the little lawyer, stoutly, "the paragraph is a joke, and if we can find out the author of it, he will be punished."

"Serve him right. I told Lady Hamlyn there was some absurd mistake. Very glad to hear it. Good morning."

"Mr. Forster, stop one moment!" cried Major Every; "surely this tale of Carruthers stealing a watch is all false?"

"False as the foul fiend himself," said the little man, in a rage.

"I knew it—I said so. Young men with twenty thousand a year do not steal. A likely story! What does it mean, then?"

"Some one who owes him an ill-turn has played this sorry jest upon him; but we shall pay him."

"He deserves transportation. I do not know a nobler young fellow in all the world than Basil Carruthers." A fashionable carriage was standing at his office door when he reached it.

"The Countess of Northdown waiting to see you, sir," said the clerk.

Entering his private room he saw a lovely lady, fashionably attired, who greeted him with exquisite grace. Her face was very pale and her lips quivered as she spoke to him.

"Good morning, Mr. Forster. You will be surprised to see me, but knowing you are the family solicitor, I called to ask you if this shocking story about Mr. Carruthers is true."

"Heaven have mercy on me this day," thought the lawyer, "my soul is steeped in lies."

"Certainly not, Lady Northdown. Mr. Carruthers is abroad. The fact of the matter is, the prisoner resembles him, as a vile caricature does, at times, resemble the original, and some would-be wag who saw it, thought the writing of this absurd paragraph a great joke."

"He deserves shooting," said my lady, angrily.

"That may be his fate, when Mr. Carruthers catches him," was the grim reply.

"I told Lord Northdown it was all nonsense," she continued. "I am much obliged to you for your kindness, Mr. Forster."

There was a rustle of silken robes, a stirring of sweet perfume, and then Lady Northdown was gone, only to be succeeded by another and another, until the lawyer gave himself up for lost on account of the many falsehoods he had told.

"Tomorrow my contradiction will set all this straight," he thought; "especially if it be followed by a letter from my lady, and I must compel her to write. I would as soon try to drive wild oxen as to persuade a Carruthers."

He was not able to start for Ulverston until the end of the afternoon. It was full two hours' ride by rail from London, and all the way there the lawyer was worrying himself with conjectures, and trying to solve what he thought honestly the greatest mystery he had ever known.

It was six o'clock on a bright May evening when he reached Ulverston.

He