"I am dying, Ralph Fairbanks," moaned the stricken Farrington. "You have your revenge."
"I wish for no revenge—I truly am sorry to see you in this condition."
"Well, here I am," groaned Farrington—"a miserable wreck, dying in a wretched hovel, the end of all my plotting, and worst of all, robbed of everything I own."
"By whom?" asked Ralph.
"By Bartlett, who has abandoned me. I know it, and only this morning he got from me the deeds conveying all my property to him. Once recorded, I am a beggar, and can make no reparation to those whom I have defrauded."
"Is that true?" asked Ralph.
"Yes. He pretended he would drive to Wilmer, record the deeds at Stanley Junction, return and take me safely out of the country. Instead, he has isolated me in this desolate place. Oh, to outwit him, Fairbanks !" continued the magnate eagerly. "I can yet defeat him if you can assist me."
"How?"
"Under the bed is my box of private papers. Unknown to Bartlett, last week, suspecting his scheme to rob me, believing I was dying, I executed deeds that distributed my property among those whom I had wronged. One deed is
