Tuesday, 2nd.—At last it has all broken
down. I dare not go to the office. Quite
helpless. She sees it, and knows the
miserable night I have passed. I have
sent to Maxwell, to the bank. He has
cruelly warned me that on the day after to-
morrow they will call upon me to resign.
Then what will be done! . . . . only one
thing—Heaven's will.

Three o'clock. Mr. Stanhope, the clergyman,
just gone. Lord Langton has fallen
from his horse, and they have got down
Sir Duncan Dennison, the great London
doctor—a good man and a charitable
man—and Mr. Stanhope has brought
him on to me. But his remedy! I could
have laughed, but for her sad face. " My
good friend, no tricks will do here. You
are in a bad way this moment; and I
tell you solemnly your only chance is the
German waters, and, listen, one special one
of those German places—Homburg—is the
only thing to save you. I snatched a man
from the jaws, from the throat of death, this
year, by packing him off. You must go to-
morrow morning." A fine remedy, and a
precious one truly. Maxwell comes in as
the doctor is there, and Dora passionately
tells him what has been said. He listens
coolly and civilly.

"With that I have nothing to say. We
have to begin making out the report to-
night, and are not going to take on fresh
hands to swell the expenses. The best
thing you can do—and I advise you as
manager—is to resign at once. I have
another man ready for the place, and I dare
say it could be arranged that a quarter's
salary could be got in some way, as a
bonus, with which you could take your
expedition."

"And leave them to starve! What do
you suppose is to become of us? Are they
to be turned out on the road? Has your
bank, your board of blood-suckers, no heart,
no soul?"

"The Associated Bank!—God bless me,
yes!" said Sir Duncan, who had been
silent. "I attend at least two of the
directors, as honest and soft fellows as ever
signed a cheque. They're not the fellows
to suck anybody's blood—unless at least,
it's in private."

"They are men of business, sir," said
Maxwell, "and do their duty to the bank
and the shareholders."

Then they all left us, Sir Duncan saying:

"My poor fellow, I am sorry for you!
Something may turn up."

We, however, were calm. As I said
before, I had taught Dora whom to turn to
in these straits, and bade her pray for
even Maxwell. On myself I find a sort of
insensibility coming, I suppose from illness.
And yet I have great vitality and life, and
if there was a crisis or purpose before me,
could shake all off for a time.

Four o'clock!—What ungrateful creatures
we are! Oh, to an ever bountiful
Providence be all praise! It seems like
a miracle; but that confidence, somehow,
never failed. A telegram lies before me
from the directors in London. A note from
Maxwell, at the same time. He would not
come himself, though he came so often
before, to gloat over our miseries. But I
shall find out more of his treachery. Still
I am so joyous, so supremely happy, I
can be angry with no one. Mr. Barnard,
who is a director, but who has been away
on the Continent, has come down himself.
He has seen and told me the plan—leave
of absence, and I am not to resign! Oh,
happy change! I feel as in a dream!

Five o'clock.—There is more happiness
to set down. I can hardly write these
words—not from sickness, but from excitement.
It is all settled, and I go, not this
morning, but to-night—this very night.
Heaven is very good—too good! Not an
hour ago Mr. Barnard came in here—his
knock made me tremble.

"So you are ill?" he said, it seemed
with sternness. " Well, this can't go on.
You will lose your situation; the bank
must have its work done."

"I know it, sir," I said.

"And so this Sir Duncan says nothing
short of Homburg will do you. A first-
class watering-place, and an expensive
journey for a bank clerk! Well, well!"

Dora was in a flood of tears. " Oh, he
will die, sir!" she said, passionately.

"No he won't," he said, with a sudden
change in manner—" or, at least, if he does,
it shall be his own fault. Come, he shall
go, and this night too."

My dear gave a scream. I felt the
colour in my own face. He sat down and
gave us details of this miraculous deliverance.

Here was the plan, and I do recognise in
it one more proof of that actual guidance of
Providence—that positive interference in
our affairs here below. Oh, how unworthy,
I say again, am I of such goodness! Our
bank, it seems, in London, has a good many
Jew directors, and has been trying to get a
little foreign business in the way of agency.
A rich Frankfurt merchant, whom he knew,