"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