Clara turned away, and wiped two large tears from her eyes; her lips trembled so that she could not utter a word.

"No, no," continued he; "a guardian is all very well, but a mother's rights are very different,--and such a mother as yours, Clara! Oh! by Jove! that _was_ a pang! Give me that toast-and-water, child!"

It was with a rude impatience he seized the glass from her hand, and drank off the contents. "This pain makes one a downright savage, my poor Clara," said he, patting her cheek, "but old grandpapa will not be such a bear to-morrow."

"To-morrow, when I'm gone!" muttered she, half dreamily.

"And his name? What is it?"

"Stocmar, sir."

"Stocmar,--Stocmar? never heard of a Stocmar, except that theatrical fellow near St. James's. Have you seen him, child?"

"No, sir. I was out walking when he called."

"Well, do the same to-morrow," cried he, peevishly, for another twitch of gout had just crossed him. "It's always so," muttered he; "every annoyance of life lies in wait for the moment a man is laid up with gout, just as if the confounded malady were not torture enough by itself. There's Charley going out as a volunteer to India, for what or why no one can say. If there had been some insurmountable obstacle to his marriage with May, he 'd have remained to overcome it; but because he loves her, and that she likes _him_--By Jove, that was a pang!"

cried he, wiping his forehead, after a terrible moment of pain. "Isn't it so, Clara?" he resumed. "_You_ know better than any of us that May never cared for that tutor fellow,--I forget his name; besides, that's an old story now,--a matter of long ago. But he _will_ go. He says that even a rash resolve at six-and-twenty is far better than a vain and hopeless regret at six-and-forty; but I say, let him marry May Leslie, and he need neither incur one nor the other. And so this guardian's name is Harris?"

"No, grandpapa, Stocmar."

"Oh, to be sure. I was confounding him with another of those stage people. And what business has he to carry you off without your mother's consent?"

"Mamma _does_ consent, sir. She says that my education has been so much neglected that it is actually indispensable I should study now."

"Education neglected! what nonsense! Do they want to make you a Professor of the Sorbonne? Why, child, without any wish to make you vain, you know ten times as much as half the collegiate fellows one meets, what with languages, and music, and drawing, and all that school learning of mamma's own teaching. And then that memory of yours, Clara; why, you seem to me to forget nothing."

"I remember but too well," muttered she to herself.

"What was it you said, child? I did not catch it," said he. And then, not waiting for her reply, he went on: "And all your high spirits, my little Clara, where are they gone? And your odd rhymes, that used to amuse me so? You never make them now."

"They do not cross my mind as they used to do," said she, pensively.

"You vote them childish, perhaps, like your dolls?" said he, smiling.

"No, not that. I wish with all my heart I could go back to the dolls and the nursery songs. I wish I could live all in the hour before me, making little dramas of life, with some delightful part for myself in each, and only to be aroused from the illusion to join a real world Just as enjoyable."

"But surely, child, you have not reached the land of regrets already?"

said he, fondly drawing her towards him with his arm.

She turned her head away, and drew her hand across her eyes.

"It is very early to begin with sorrow, my dear child," said he, affectionately. "Let me hope that it's only an April cloud, with the silver lining already peeping through."

A faint sob broke from her, but she did not speak.

"I 'd ask to be your confidant only in thinking I could serve you, dearest Clara. Old men like myself get to know a good deal of life without any study of it."

She made a slight effort to disengage herself from his arm, but he held her fast; and, after a moment, she leaned her head upon his shoulder and burst out crying.

At this critical instant the door opened, and Mrs. Morris entered.

Scarcely inside the room, she stood like one spell-bound, unable to move or speak; her features, flushed by exercise, became pale as death, her lips actually livid. "Am I indiscreet?" asked she, in a voice scarcely other than a hiss of passion. "Do I interrupt a confidence, Sir William?"

"I am not sure that you do," said he, good-humoredly. "Though I was pressing Clara to accept me as a counsellor, I 'm not quite certain I was about to succeed."

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Morris, sarcastically. "_My_ theory about young ladies excludes secrets altogether. It assumes them to be candid and open-hearted. They who walk openly and on the high-road want little guidance beyond the dictates of a right purpose. Go to your room, Clara, and I 'll be with you presently." These latter words were spoken in perfect calm, and obeyed at once. Mrs. Morris was now alone with Sir William.

The Baronet felt ill at ease. With a perfect consciousness of honorable motives, there is an awkwardness in situations which seem to require explanation, if not excuse, and he waited, in a sort of fidgety impatience, that she should say something that might enable him to state what had occurred between Clara and himself.

"I hope you are better than when I left you this morning?" said she, as she untied her bonnet and seated herself in front of him.

"Scarcely so; these pains recur at every instant, and my nerves are shattered with irritability."

"I 'm sorry for it, for you have need of all your firmness; bad news has come from America."

"Bad news? What sort of bad news? Is there a war--"

"A war!" said she, contemptuously. "I wish it _was_ a war! It's far worse than war. It's general bankruptcy. All the great houses breaking, and securities utterly valueless."

"Well, bad enough, no doubt, but it does not immediately concern _us_,"

said he, quickly.

"Not concern us! Why, what have we been doing these last months but buying into this share-market? Have we not invested largely in Kansas stock, in Iroquois and in Texan bonds?"

Whether he had not originally understood the transfers in which he had borne his part, or whether the pain of his seizure had effaced all memory of the events, he now sat bewildered and astounded, like one suddenly aroused from a deep sleep, to listen to disastrous news.

"But I don't understand," cried he. "I cannot see how all this has been done. I heard you and Trover discussing it together, and I saw innumerable colored plans of railroads that were to be, and cities that must be, and I remember something about lands to be purchased for two dollars and re-sold for two hundred."

"And, by all that, you have confessed to know everything that _I_ did,"

said she, firmly. "It was explained to you that, instead of muddling away upon mortgage at home, some thirty or even forty per cent might be realized in the States. I showed you the road by risking whatever little fortune I possessed, and you followed. Now we have each of us lost our money, and there 's the whole story."

"But it's May's money I 've lost!" cried he, with a voice of anguish.

"I don't suppose it matters much to whom it belonged once," said she, dryly. "The gentlemen into whose hands it falls will scarcely burden themselves to ask whence it came."

"But I had no right to gamble May Leslie's fortune!" burst he in.

"We have no time for the ethical part of the question at present," said she, calmly. "Our concern is with how we are to save the most we can. I have just seen the names of two houses at New York, which, if aided in time, will be able to stand the torrent, and eventually pay everything.

To save their credit here will require about eighteen thousand pounds.

It is our interest--our only hope, indeed--to rescue them. Could you induce May to take this step?"

"Induce May to peril another large portion of her fortune!" cried he, in horror and astonishment.

"Induce her to arrest what might proceed to her ruin," whispered she, in a low, distinct voice. "If these American securities are forfeited, there will be no money forthcoming to meet the calls for the Spanish railroads, no resources to pay the deposit on the concessions in Naples.

You seem to forget how deep our present engagements are. We shall need above thirty thousand pounds by the 1st of March,--fully as much more six weeks later."

The old man clasped his hands convulsively, and trembled from head to foot.

"You know well how ignorant she is of all we have done, all we are doing," said he, with deep emotion.