"Oh! do you? I shall be very grateful--" Edith began, then stopped, choking back a sob that had almost burst from her trembling lips.

"I see you do not quite comprehend how that can be," continued her friend, ignoring her emotion. "But the piece of money which the p.a.w.nbroker pretended to return to you was not the same that you had received from me--it was a spurious one which he had at hand for the express purpose evidently of tricking the unwary, and Mr. Solon Retz will, ere long, be compelled to exchange places with you, if I can possibly bring him to justice."

CHAPTER V.

A MOTHER'S LAST REQUEST.

Two hours later, Royal Bryant was at the p.a.w.nbroker's shop, and had redeemed Edith's watch, much against the wish of the money-lender, who desired to retain it. And as the lawyer placed the watch in his pocket, he made a sign to an officer on the street, who had accompanied him to the spot.

Solon Retz was astounded when he found himself a prisoner, on the charge of pa.s.sing counterfeit money. He was hurried to court, and the judge investigated the case at once. Mr. Bryant and Mr. Knowles gave their testimony, and it was conclusively demonstrated that the spurious coin must have come from the p.a.w.nbroker's drawer.

At Royal Bryant's suggestion the p.a.w.nbroker was ordered to be searched, when no less than three more bogus pieces were found concealed upon his person.

This was deemed sufficient proof of his guilt, without further testimony, and he was sentenced to four years' imprisonment, without Edith having been called to the witness stand to testify against him.

As the crestfallen p.a.w.nbroker was led away, Royal Bryant went eagerly to Edith's side.

"You are free, Miss Allandale," he exclaimed, with a radiant face, "and I think we are to be congratulated upon having made such quick work of the case."

"It is all owing to your cleverness," Edith returned, lifting a pair of grateful eyes to his face. "How can I thank you?"

"You do not need to do that, for I feel that I alone have been to blame for all your trouble," he said, in a self-reproachful tone; then he added, with a roguish gleam in his fine eyes: "I shall never be guilty of paying my copyist in gold again. Now come, I have a carriage waiting for you and will send you directly home to your mother," the young man concluded, as he lifted her shawl from the chair where she had been sitting and wrapped it about her shoulders.

Edith followed him to the street, where a hack stood ready to take her home.

Mr. Bryant a.s.sisted her to enter it, when he laid a small package in her lap.

"It is your watch," he said, in a low tone. Then, extending his hand to her, he added: "I shall not ask you to return to the office for two or three days--you need rest after your recent anxiety and excitement, while I am to be away until Wednesday noon. Come to me on Thursday morning, if you feel able, when I shall have plenty of work for you."

He pressed the hand he was holding with an unconscious fondness which brought a rich color into the young girl's face, then, closing the carriage door, he gave the order to the coachman, smiled another adieu, as he lifted his hat to her, and the next moment Edith was driven away.

There was a glad light in her eyes, a tender smile on her red lips, and, in spite of her poverty and many cares, she was, for the moment, supremely happy, for Royal Bryant's manner had been far more suggestive to her than he had been aware of, and she was thrilled to her very soul by the consciousness that he loved her.

She sat thus, in happy reverie, until the carriage turned into the street where she lived; then, suddenly coming to herself, her attention was again attracted to the package in her lap.

"There is something besides mamma's watch here!" she murmured, as she noticed the thickness of it.

Untying the string and removing the wrapper, she found a pretty purse with a silver clasp lying upon the case containing the watch.

With burning cheeks she opened it, and found within a crisp ten-dollar note and Royal Bryant's card bearing these words upon the back:

"I shall deem it a favor if you will accept the inclosed amount, as a loan, until you find yourself in more comfortable circ.u.mstances financially. Yours, R.B."

Edith caught the purse to her lips with a thrill of joy.

"How kind! how delicate!" she murmured. "He knew that I was nearly penniless--that I had almost nothing with which to tide over the next few days, during his absence. He is a prince--he is a king among men, and I--"

A vivid flush dyed her cheeks as she suddenly checked the confession that had almost escaped her lips, her head drooped, her chest heaved with the rapid beating of her heart, as she realized that her deepest and strongest affections had been irrevocably given to the n.o.ble-hearted young man who had been so kind to her in her recent trouble.

The carriage stopped at last before the door of her home--if the miserable tenenment-house could be designated by such a name--and she sprang eagerly to the ground as the coachman opened the door for her to alight.

"The fare is all paid, miss," he said, respectfully, as she hesitated a moment; then she went bounding up the stairs to be met on the threshold of her room by Kate O'Brien--who had seen the carriage stop--with her finger on her lips and a look in her kind, honest eyes that made the girl's heart sink with a sudden shock.

"My mother!" she breathed, with paling lips.

"Whisht, mavourneen!" said the woman, pitifully; then added, in a lower tone: "She has been mortal ill, miss."

"And now?" panted Edith, leaning against the door-frame for support.

"'Sh! She is asleep."

Edith waited to hear no more. Something in the woman's face and manner filled her with a terrible dread.

She pushed by her, entered the room, and glided swiftly but noiselessly to the bed, looked down upon the scarcely breathing figure lying there.

It was with difficulty that she repressed a shriek of agony at what she saw, for the shadow of death was unmistakably settling over the beloved face.

The invalid stirred slightly upon her pillow as Edith came to her side and bent over her.

"My darling," she murmured weakly, as her white lids fluttered open, and she bent a look full of love upon the fair face above her, "I--am going--"

"No, no, mamma!" whispered the almost heart-broken girl, but struggling mightily with her agony and to preserve calmness lest she excite the invalid.

"Bring me the--j.a.panese box--quick!" the dying woman commanded, in a scarcely audible tone.

Without a word Edith darted to a closet, opened a trunk, and from its depths drew forth a beautiful casket inlaid with mother-of-pearl and otherwise exquisitely decorated.

"The--key," gasped the sick one, fumbling feebly among the folds of her night-robe.

Edith bent over her and unfastened a key from a golden chain which encircled her mother's neck.

"Open!" she whispered, glancing toward the casket.

The girl, wondering, but awed and silent, unlocked the box and threw back the cover, thus revealing several packages of letters and other papers neatly arranged within it.

Mrs. Allandale reached forth a weak and bloodless hand, as if to take something out of the box, when she suddenly choked, and in another instant the red life-current was flowing from her lips.

"Letters--burn--" she gasped, with a last expiring effort, and then became suddenly insensible.

In an agony of terror, Edith dashed the box upon the nearest chair and began to chafe the cold hand that hung over the side of the bed, while Mrs. O'Brien came forward, a look of awe on her face.

The frail chest of the invalid heaved two or three times, there was a spasmodic twitching of the slender fingers lying on the young girl's hand, then all was still, and Edith Allandale was motherless.