Taking from a private drawer in this repository a small paper parcel, containing a pasteboard box, and opening the latter, the old lawyer produced what looked like a long, flat white cord, with shining tips at either end.
"This, Mr. EDWIN," said he, with marked emotion, "is a stay-lace, with golden tags, which belonged to Miss FLORA'S mother. It was handed to me, in the abstraction of his grief, by Miss FLORA'S father, on the day of the funeral; be saying that he could never bear to look upon it again. To you, as Miss FLORA'S future husband, I now give it."
"A stay-lace!" echoed EDWIN, coming forward as quickly as his lameness would allow, and staunching his swollen upper lip with a handkerchief.
"Yes," was the grave response. "You have undoubtedly noticed, Mr. EDWIN, that in every fashionable romance, the noble and grenadine heroine has a habit of 'drawing herself up proudly' whenever any gentleman tries to shake hands with her, or asks her how she can possibly be so majestic with him. This lace was used by Miss FLORA'S mother to draw herself up proudly with; and she drew herself up so much with it, that it finally reached her heart and killed her. I here place it in your hands, that you may ultimately give it to your young wife as a memento of a mother who did nothing by halves but die. If you, by any chance, should not marry the daughter, I solemnly charge you, by the memory of the living and the dead, to bring it back to me."
Receiving the parcel with some awe, EDWIN placed it in one of his pockets.
"BLADAMS." said Mr. DIBBLE, solemnly, "you are witness of the transfer."
"Deponent, being duly sworn, does swear and cuss that he saw it, to the best of his knowledge and belief," returned the clerk, helping Mr. DROOD to resume his overcoat.
When in his own room, at Gowanus, that night, Mr. DIBBLE, in his nightcap, paused a moment before extinguishing his light, to murmur to himself: "I wonder, now, whether poor POTTS confided his orphan child to me because he knew that I might have been the successful suitor to the mother if I had been worth a little more money just about then?"
What time, in the law-office in town, Mr. BLADAMS was upon his knees on the floor, tossing crackers from all directions on the carpet into his mouth, like a farinacious goblin, and nearly suffocating whenever he glanced at the disordered table.
(To be Continued.)