THE

SECOND MRS.TILLOTSON.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "NEVER FORGOTTEN."

BOOK II.

CHAPTER XIX. MR. TILNEY'S LAST STAKE.

WHEN our Mr. Tilney had taken any step to
free himself from a difficulty, no matter how
unpromising it looked, he became at once
relieved and cheerful, as though it had already
succeeded perfectly—always provided he had a
little "breathing time" allowed him, as he called
it. So now he went busily to work on his high
festival, mapping out his dinner again and again.
Once, indeed, already "the girls" had gone up
to tea to the Whitakers', had met the young
Whitakers, and, it was announced, had made a
very favourable impression. But Ada Millwood
had gone with them, as was indeed
almost insisted upon, by Colonel Whitaker;
and it was more than likely that she, too,
had attracted the stranger youth. "The girls,"
however, accepted his attentions. As for
themselves, they brought home golden-coloured
accounts, and altogether everything seemed to be
proceeding with the happiest auspices. He
himself had indeed been a little alarmed by a
remark of Colonel Whitaker's, viz. as to Mrs.
Whitaker being a "very high woman, and, my
dear fellow, would faint if she got within wind
of any one that was in debt or difficulties. And
between you and me, Tilney, as to a fellow that
can't pay his way, and is at peddling shifts to
keep his nose above water, doing dirty tricks, and
struggling to keep going, you know—I don't
think she is very far wrong. All that soiling
one's fingers with bills and renewals,
and that sort of thing. It's so infernal low;
and there was poor Bob Cowes, they said—but
I wouldn't believe it—was tapped on the shoulder
by a bailiff when he came to see us, poor
devil. She wouldn't speak to him—had the
place scented with rose-water, to take off the
plague, as she said. And she's never let him
in since."

"Dick Tilney" laughed very heartily at this
picture.

It came on very close to the day of his feast.
The number of guests had increased; he had
even asked Dr. Topham, who, though not
pleased with him latterly, on account of his
intimacy with the Norburys, had graciously
overlooked the past, on account of the favour with
which he was regarded by the Whitakers. He
had asked a country magnate, with an "honourable"
hanging on the shoulder of his name like
an epaulette. It began to be talked of, to Mr.
Tilney's alarm; but, with a feeling like
desperation, he determined to go through with it.

The night itself would redeem all—would
pay for all. The youth had been marked down
for slaughter; was not to leave the room alive;
that is, unpledged. Every one in the house girded
himself up for this last cast. He had faint
hopes even that something would turn up before,
and he especially relied on his "letter to Tillotson;"
but day after day went by, and no
answer came—a week, ten days, a fortnight
even.

"I was mistaken in that man," he said,
bitterly; "as, indeed, I have been in everybody I
have met. I took him by the hand when
he came here; set him on his legs. Look at
the result! Bank firmly established and
nourishing, money pouring in—and this is my
return!"

However, difficulties and dangers seemed
to have lulled. Within these few days, it was
recollected that the duns had ceased from
troubling, and the weary debtor had found a
temporary repose. He had contrived to
provide for everything, happily through an
ingenious suggestion of his guest. He was
complaining to the colonel of the poor quality of
things they got in the provincial corner—wine,
fish, and the like.

"My goodness," said his friend, "I tell you
what. Let me give you a note to my people
in London. The very thing, and nothing they
would like better. A man like you, with a
trained taste and palate, and at the head of a
bank, with lots of money, is just the thing for
them. Do. There's my fish fellow, and my
wine fellow; and Jacocks, my butcher, who, I
solemnly declare to you—and it's no exaggeration
—gives me the finest meat in the United
Kingdom. Such flavour! Just get a saddle from
him as a trial, and see if it doesn't melt into
juice under your teeth."

Was there ever such a Providence? For long
Mr. Tilney had been thinking with awe and
trembling of the outraged Waterman, his private
purveyor, now actually grown passive and silent
from the sheer hopelessness of importunity.