he or any other, call him Bernard, or any
name? Suppose I did put down some money,
it is my own concern, and that of my own
too scrupulous conscience. Suppose I did
lose even. That is my business—distinctly
mine, and no one else's. I shall have to bear
the consequences O, Heaven, there
it is—consequences! I must begin again.

I can think of this no more. O my lost
gold, my precious money, that those
robbers have stripped me of! The vile, scheming
miscreants, that fatten and thrive on
the poor. O what shall I do—what is
to become of me! And what stupid folly
to abandon my only safeguard, the system
I was preaching of to others! What
madness! If I had only stopped when
I had begun to lose, and then waited for a
new opening. But they shall give it to
me all back, every coin of it, and with
interest!

CHAPTER XV.

THURSDAY.—I never slept till four this
morning. I had the hum of that cursed
wheel in my ears. Was there ever man so
cruelly persecuted, or made to fight the
battle of life so pitilessly? I come here for
a little holiday, which I have not had for
years, and to pick up some wretched scraps
of health; and when I succeed a little, I
find my house struck with affliction, and all
my means melting away. That child—and
Dora's piteous, foolish letter! But what do
I say—she is left to me. Wicked tongue
that should be cropped out! Am I not
ungrateful, brutishly ungrateful, when she
remains to me! After all, I have something
to be thankful for, deeply thankful
for. And a few napoleons loss is not such
a crime. Wiser and holier men have lost
thousands. No, it is not that. "Cursed!"
Oh, what words it has taught me! Well,
accursed—there! that is more decent. It
is very fine for a sick, worried, badgered
soul to be picking his words. I leave that
to the complacently virtuous at home, who
have nothing to trouble them, and are never
tried, and can pray smoothly on a soft
hassock. I should like to see these smug
pharisees with bills pouring in, they going
home without a farthing to meet the bills,
and a small bag with a hundred pounds in
gold, forgotten by some one on the railway
Cushion beside them. Not notes which can
be stopped or identified. There is the test to
put these holy men to. Try a starving curate
with it, and insure him against detection.

Another letter lying on the table which
I had passed over. Why do they persecute
me in this way with their long screeds!
Yet I know the hand—Maxwell's—yes.

What does he say? More of his underhand
work—his stabbing in the dark; but I
warn them to take care, for there is a point
when the baited soul will turn.

"SIR,—The directors of this bank have
learned with surprise that a responsible
officer of theirs, entrusted with a serious
mission, has become actually notorious for
his assiduous attendance at the gambling
tables of the place you are now in. When
there is considered the extraordinary delay
in remitting the large sum of money which
was to have been lodged at this bank to
Mr. Bernard's credit, very grave and serious
suspicions arise as to your behaviour.
I am instructed therefore to request you
will cease to bring any fresh scandals on
the untarnished name of the house, and at
once return. The stories that have reached
them, would almost justify them in immediate
dismissal; but they forbear further
action, until it be seen whether you can
offer any explanation."

Return! But whither am I to turn for
money? Sixty pounds! why it will be to
return home and face bailiffs. He told me
last time he could give me no more time, and
that, on another occasion, I must be punctual.
I could no more make out sixty
pounds than I could fly. I had better go
home at once and face them all. It will
be over the sooner. As for any good I have
gained by coming to this place, it is all
gone now by this worry and affliction. My
nerves seem all gone, and my heart last
night was almost leaping up every moment
I could lie down. God help us all. At any
rate, I will get out of this place.

Four o'clock.—I just met Grainger
coming out of the room, his hand full
of gold. He was exulting an instant, was
about making me say to him, "Where is
your resolution, your promise?" when I
checked myself. What right had I—and
indeed, I felt that all this was delusion and
I had no right to set up as a preacher.

"Don't blow me up," he said gently, " I
can't help it. I have tried and tried.
Besides you know, you yourself. By the way,
D'Eyncourt says he saw you lose fifty louis
last night."

"Where is he?" I said, fiercely; "bring
me to him, and I will teach him to invent
falsehoods about me."

"Well, you lost something, didn't you?
But don't be cast down. I am very sorry
for you, very; and I tell you what, here are
six naps, all I can afford, and go back and
try again."

I turned away with horror. "Never," I