that were slowly trickling down his poor faded cheeks. "For the first
few years of his time, he wrote now and then, complaining bitterly of
his fate; but for five-and-twenty years I've never had a line from him.
I can't doubt that he's dead. Poor Joseph!--poor boy!--poor boy! The
misery of all this killed my mother. Mr. Henry Dunbar committed a great
sin when he tempted that lad to wrong; and many a cruel sorrow arose out
of that sin, perhaps to lie heavy at his door some day or other, sooner
or later, sooner or later. I'm an old man, and I've seen a good deal of
the ways of this world, and I've found that retribution seldom fails to
overtake those who do wrong."

Mr. Balderby shrugged his shoulders.

"I should doubt the force of your philosophy in this case, my good
Sampson," he said; "Mr. Dunbar has had a long immunity from his sins. I
should scarcely think it likely he would ever be called upon to atone
for them."

"I don't know, sir," the old clerk answered; "I don't know that. I've
seen retribution come very late, very late; when the man who committed
the sin had well nigh forgotten it. Evil trees bear evil fruit, Mr.
Balderby: the Scriptures tell us that; and take my word for it, evil
consequences are sure to come from evil deeds."

"But to return to the story of the forged bills," said Mr. Austin, the
cashier, looking at his watch as he spoke.

He was evidently growing rather impatient of the old clerk's rambling
talk.