"Do you understand me, Mr. Jerrold?"

"I hear you, sir, but really fear you are jesting at my expense."

"_I never jest_, sir. It has been so long since I jested that the word
has become meaningless to me. But, as I said, there is a condition--"

"Allow me to hear it, Mr. Stillinghast," said Walter Jerrold, fearing
at least it might be something dreadful and impossible.

"I have," said the old man, as if talking to himself, "I have gathered
together large sums. I scarcely know the exact amount myself. There
is principal, interest, and compound interest, still heaping up the
pile. I do not intend it shall be squabbled over when I am in the
dust, or left open to the rapacity of lawyers. I shall dispose of my
concerns while I have reason and health, in such a way, by Heaven! as
Heaven itself cannot interfere with my plans!"

Why did not that boastful, gold-withered, shrivelled up old man, pause?
How dare he throw such defiance in the face of Almighty God over his
unrighteous gains!--yes, unrighteous gains, for mammon held them in
trust. None had ever gone into the treasure-house of God to relieve
the suffering, or aid the indignant. The few good acts of his life had
been _wrested_ from him, and the recollection of them filled him with
bitterness instead of joy.

"That is wise and prudent, sir," observed Mr. Jerrold.

"Of course it is. But now to the point. I will take you into