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Show THE FORGED WILL. It was my first visit to London since I had taken up my abode and entered on the practice of my profession as solicitor of Southampton. In London I had a very dear friend, my old friend, my college chum, George Dickson, and as he was the only person I knew in the great metropolis of course I lost no time in looking him up. Three years had passed since our last meeting but ten could have scarcely produced a change more marked than had taken place in the appearance and manner of my friend. Our first greeting and friendly inquiries over, I longed, yet forbore, to ask the cause of my friend's melancholy. I felt sure in due time of being made the confidence of the secret, provided no motive of delicacy prompted its concealment. That evening, in my room at the hotel George told me his story. He had formed an attachment for a young lady, whose graces of mind and person he portrayed with all the fervor of a lover's eloquence. She had returned his affection, but her father had opposed his suit, having set his heart on the marriage of his daughter to a nephew of his. This nephew was a young surgeon, of profligate character, my friend assured me but that may have been prejudice-who had long, but unsuccessfully, wooed his cousin, to whom his offers were as repugnant as to her father they were acceptable. Some months since, Mr. Parsons, the young lady's father, had gone into Hampshire on business, accompanied by his nephew. At Southampton he had been seized by a sudden illness which terminated fatally in three days. On the day preceding his death he had executed a will (which had since been duly proved by the depositions of the attesting witness) containing a solemn request that his daughter, to whom he left the whole of his estate, should accept the hand of his nephew in marriage, coupled with the provision that in case the latter offered and she refused within a specified period to enter into the proposed union, the whole estate devised for the daughter should be forfeited to the nephew. To sacrifice her fortune to her heart's choice would not have cost Julia Parsons a moment's hesitation, and nothing could have more delighted George Dickson than so fair an opportunity of showing how superior his devotion was to all thought of personal advantage. But her father's dying request, in Julia's eyes, was sacred. It had surprised and stunned, it is true, for in their conferences on the subject he had never gone beyond the most kindly remonstrance, and had never hinted at anything like coercion. Young Parsons, the nephew, had not the magnanimity to forego his ungenerous advantage. He might have been content with his cousin's fortune alone, but his right to that depended on his offer and her rejection of an alliance which she felt in conscience bound to accept. The brief season of grace which she had been compelled to beg even with tears, had already almost passed, and a few more days would witness the condemnation of two lives to hopeless misery. At the conclusion of my friend's narrative, in which, for reasons that may hereafter be developed, I felt a peculiar interest, I prevailed upon him to accompany me to a place of amusement, to which I had previously procured tickets. When we reached the theatre the performance had already began, but we succeeded in finding seats which commanded a fine view both of the stage and the audience. In a few minutes George touched my elbow. Observe the gentleman nearly opposite, in the front row, seated next to the column leaning his arm on his cane," he whispered. I looked in the direction indicated, and saw a face whose striking resemblance to one I had seen before caused me to start with surprise. "Who is it?" I asked. "Etheridge Parsons," was the reply. "The nephew of whom you spoke?" "Yes." "Does he resemble his uncle?" I was on the point of inquiring, but then the stranger drew the glove from his right hand and I saw the first joint of the middle finger was gone, a circumstance which for a sufficient reason absorbed my attention. "Do you know the exact date of Mr. Parson's death?" I asked, when we had gained the street at the close of the performance. "Yes," said George, "it was the 23d of December. His daughter received a telegram from her cousin announcing the act the same day. But why do you ask?" I have a reason, which may or may not prove a good one." I returned, and stating that I had business engagements for the whole of the next day, I parted with my friend, promising to meet him on the following evening. Next afternoon found me at the house of Mr. Parsons, the nephew. "Mr. Parsons, I presume?" were the words with which I accosted the gentleman I had seen at the theatre. "Yes, sir." You may not remember me, Mr. Parsons but I believe we have met before." "I beg your pardon for not recollecting the occasion." "You were in Southampton last winter, were you not?" "I was," he replied, with some embarrassment. I am the solicitor to whom you called to make a draft of a will." He turned pale, but made no reply. "I saw a record of that will at Doctors' Commons this morning." I resumed, ?? "You speak of my uncle's will," he hastily interrupted. "And yet," I continued, "you said it was yours when you applied to have it written. You represented yourself desirous of executing such a document, preparatory to embarking on a voyage. The paper was drawn in accordance with your instructions, leaving the date to be filled in at the date of signing. Your locks were gray then, and you certainly looked old enough to have a marriageable daughter, but your disguise was not perfect," and I pointed to the mutilated finger. "What do you mean?" he shouted in a desperate tone. "Simply that your uncle's signature to that will is a forgery?" I answered, rising and confronting him. "He died on the 23d of December. Your own telegram to that effect is in existence. It was the day before Christmas that you called on me to prepare the document now on record as he will. The inference in plain, you undertook to manufacture this spurious testament after your uncle's death, and wishing to clothe your villainy in legal form, you secured from me the required ?? or some one at your instigation simulated the signature of the deceased. The witnesses, who have since perjured themselves in their deposition, were procured in some manner best known to yourself." "Enough sir," he ejaculated placing his hand against the door, "you have shown yourself to be in possession of secrets the custody of which prove dangerous." "I am not unprepared for your threats," I replied. "In the first place, I did not come here unarmed, in the next I have prepared a full written statement of the facts to which I have alluded, with information, besides of my present visit to yourself. This paper will be delivered to the friend to whom it is directed, unless, within the hour, I reclaim it from the messenger who has been instructed to retain it for that length of time." His face grew hard. His frame quivered with mingled fear and rage, and his eye gleamed like that of a wild beast at bay. "What is your purpose?" he said, in a voice hoarse with suppressed passion. "To keep your secret while you live." I answered, "on one condition." "Name it." "That you write instantly to Julia Parsons, renouncing all pretensions to her hand, and absolutely withdrawing your proposal of marriage." After a moment's pause he penned a brief note, which he submitted to my inspection. It was quite satisfactory. "Be so good as to seal and address it," I said. He did so. "I will see that it is delivered," I said, taking it up and bowing myself out. When I met George Dickson next evening, his old college look had come back. He had great news to tell me. The next thing was to take me to see Julia, and it is needless to say what a happy marriage followed not long after. Etheridge Parsons, I have just learned emigrated for Australia on board of the "London," and went down in that ill fated ship. |