"Thank you," said Mr Caley. "You hear, Major Gurdon? I quite endorse my partner's views."

"But they may recover," said the Major piteously. Mr Caley shrugged his shoulders. "Things could not look worse, sir; but as you cannot lose much more, and the call that will follow will not be heavy, you might speculate a little and hold on."

"But I cannot afford to pay the call, gentlemen," cried the Major. "It is ruin to me."

"Then sell, sir," said Mr Bland, "and get what you can out of the fire."

"Sell? When?"

"At once, sir."

"I--I think I will see the gentleman first through whom I bought them."

"As you will, sir, but time is money," said Mr Bland. "We might be able to place them to-day, as I hear rumours of some one buying up a few. In a couple of hours' time it may be too late."

"But surely, gentlemen, they will be saleable at some price?" cried the Major.

The partners shook their heads. And in a fit of desperation, the Major decided to sell, and was shown into a room, to wait while the preliminary business went on, Mr Caley himself going out to dispose of the shares.

Hours pa.s.sed, during which the Major sat vainly trying to compose himself to read the papers on the table, but they seemed to be full of nothing else save adverse money market news; and at last he could do nothing but pace the room.

The door opened at last and the stockbroker entered, followed by his partner.

"I have done the best I could for you, sir," said Mr Caley. "Here is an open cheque, which I would advise you to cash at once. There will be the necessary signature required by-and-by for the transference of the shares to the buyer, but that will occupy some days. Shall we send and get the cheque cashed?"

"Yes," said the Major, as he caught up a pen, and glanced at the amount and signature. "Not a tenth of what I paid for them. Humph, `R.

Wrigley.'"

"Yes, sir, a gentleman who has bought two or three lots, I believe.-- Thank you."

The Major threw himself back in his chair, and waited while the cheque was cashed, and then, shaking hands with his brokers, he took a cab and ordered the man to drive to Guildford Street.

"I hope we have given him good advice, Bland."

"The best we could give. It was a chance of chances to get rid of them at all."

"Let me see: that scheme was floated by old Grantham Reed, wasn't it?"

"Yes, and he did very wisely in dying and getting out of the way. What a vast amount of money has been thrown down mines."

Yes: Mr Clive Reed was in, and the Major entered, and felt a little staggered at the solid, wealthy look of his prospective son-in-law's house, as he was shown into the library, where Clive was busy writing.

"Ah, Major," he cried, "then you had my telegram?"

"Your telegram, sir, no."

"Tut-tut-tut! I'm sorry. But I need not ask you any questions. Your face shows that you have heard the rumour."

"Heard the cursed rumour? Yes, sir," cried the Major indignantly. "How can you have the heart to take the matter so lightly?"

"Lightly? Why not? I am only sorry that it should worry my friends."

"Clive Reed!" cried the Major, bringing his fist down so heavily upon the table that the pens leaped out of the tray; "this may be a slight matter to a mining adventurer who lives by gambling, but do you grasp the fact that it is utter ruin to me and my child?"

"My dear sir, no, I do not; and as soon as I found out what was the matter, I sent off a telegram, and paid for a horse messenger to ride over and set you at your ease."

"Set me at my ease!" cried the Major, tugging the end of his great moustache into his mouth and gnawing it. "How can a man, sir, be at his ease who has lost his all--who sees his child brought to penury?"

"My dear sir," began Clive.

"Silence, sir!" cried the Major, giving vent to the pent-up wrath which had been gathering. "Silence! Hear what I have to say. I received you at my home, believing you to be an honourable man--a gentleman. I did not draw back when I found that my poor child had been won over by your insidious ways, and I was weak enough to let you draw me into this cursed whirlpool, and persuade me to embark my little capital to be swept down to destruction."

"Did I, sir?" said Clive quietly.

"No: I will be just, even in my despair. That was my own doing, for I was blinded by your representations of wealth to come. I know: I was a fool and a madman, and I am justly punished: but I did think, sir, that you would have met me differently to this. It is a trifle perhaps to you speculators, you mining gamblers. Your way of living here in this house shows that a few thousands more or less are not of much consequence to you."

There was a look of grave sympathy in Clive's face as he listened patiently to the angry visitor's words: and twice over he made an effort to speak, but the Major furiously silenced him.

"Let me finish, sir," he cried, speaking now almost incoherently, his face flushed, and the veins in his temples knotted. "I came here, sir, meaning to speak a few grave words of reproach--to tell you of the contempt with which you have inspired me; but--but--I--but I--oh, curse it all, sir, how could you let me fall into this pit--how could you come to me and win my confidence--my poor child's confidence, and behave like a scoundrel to one who met you from the beginning as a friend?"

He ceased, and Clive rose from his chair, crossed to where he had thrown himself down, and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Major Gurdon--father,--what have I ever done to make you think me such a scoundrel?"

"Don't--don't speak to me," cried the Major hoa.r.s.ely.

"I must,--I shall," said Clive quietly. "You are terribly upset by this news; but did I not send you a message--have I not told you that there is no cause for anxiety?"

"What, sir, when all London is ringing with the collapse of your scheme, and people are selling right and left for anything they can get."

"Poor fools! yes," said Clive calmly. "They will smart for it afterwards."

"What!" cried the Major, trying to rise from his seat, but Clive pressed him back. "I tell you all London is ringing with the bursting of the bubble."

Clive smiled.

"With the miserable, contemptible rumour put about by some scheming scoundrel to make money out of the fears of investors."

"What! There, sir, it is of no use. I know what you will say--that the shares will recover shortly. Bah! Nonsense! Some of you have made your money by your speculation; and poor, weak, trusting fools like me, as you say, must smart for it."

"Major Gurdon," said Clive sadly, "you ought to have had more confidence in the man you made your friend."

"Confidence! I gave you all my confidence, and you have ruined me."

"No."

"Then stood by calmly and seen me ruined."

"No."