as he paced his room during the silent hours that precede the dawn.

"I don't want to injure the fellow in any other way. Arnold says
wipe him out; but--heavens! those words--he is a good young man!
what makes them haunt me! It seems as if my mother and the dear
girls at home are repeating them to me: Why was I not dragged up,
instead of living hourly under the influence of a sainted mother and
devoted self-sacrificing sisters? Ah! young man; it is a hard
struggle for you to fall when you think of 'Home, sweet home!'"

Such was the soliloquy of Hubert Tracy as he sat himself down in a
half-desperate state and commenced writing a letter with that
nervous haste which showed he was anxious to get rid of the
disagreeable task at once. After the envelope had been addressed the
writer gave a sigh of relief, and rising from his seat, exclaimed:
"Heavens! I would rather than a fortune it was over with!"

Despite the fact that curiosity has been defined "the lowest emotion
of the soul," we cannot forbear glancing over the content of the
letter which seemed to affect the writer so deeply. It ran thus:--

ST. JOHN, Jan. 25th, 188-.

_Dear Friend_,--Intended to write you some days ago, but am now
at fever heat, and manufacture my thoughts accordingly. Going to
make no excuse, but come to the point right off. You heard the
report about Lawson. It is too true, and if I cannot choke him off
somehow, it is all up with me. I want to get the fellow out of the
way. Can you secure that site for him instead of poor Jim Watters?
If we can only get that deuced sprig of the law entrapped out there,