"We must only try," said his friend. " I am
a bad hand at anything like strength of mind
or exertion."

"Tut, tut!" said the captain, repeating his
old " common form" of consolation. " Is it a
fine well-made fellow like you? Why, who
knows," said the captain, wistfully and in a
sort of reverie, " but we may see you with a
family yet growing up about you? And why
not? We weren't all made to be moping like
prisoners in a jail. And I tell you what, my
dear friend, look at me! Look at that foolish
old Bolshero Tom, stuck in the mud like an
old milestone, stopping the road in everybody's
way. Often and often my old father—God rest
his soul—said it to me. ' Tom,' says he, ' you'll
be sorry for it when you come to my age.' And
so I was, faith."

Then the captain fell off in talk about the
last moments of her whom he called his " little
girl." Several times his friend interrupted him,
taking snuff savagely, and using his handkerchief.

"I am no better than an old woman, and
should be sent to the poor-house. God forgive
me, for an old numskull, that might live a
hundred years more and never get sense! To
think I hadn't the wit to manage a child like
that! But it came on so very sudden, Tillotson;
even Miss Diamond and the maid, they didn't
think anything was coming," added the captain,
after a pause. "Poor little soul—poor little
soul! She's an angel, maybe, now," he said,
with a wistful air of doubt.

Mechanically the other repeated the words
after him:

"Poor, poor little soul! And did she say
anything—give you any message to me, you
know? I dare say," he added, bitterly, " she
spoke of me—forgave me, perhaps, for my
desertion of her. I should have been with her,
indeed!"

"No, no, no!" said the captain, eagerly.
"On my word and credit, no! She was speaking
of you every minute—wait, she did tell me
something to tell you, and I was in an ace of
forgetting it. Bosthoon for ever! Yes, about
the lawsuit trial."

"O, that was it?" said he, absently.

"Yes, she was very particular about it.
Yes, let me see th' exact words now. You
were," added the captain, slowly, resolutely,
by degrees—"you were to go on with the
trial. She begged you'd fight it while there
was a shot in the locker: and if you got the
day—d'ye see me now, Tillotson?—you were to
take care of poor Miss Diamond with it—set her
up comfortably, and Martha," added the captain,
checking off on his fingers, " and an hospital
something about an hospital for orphans. I'll
think of it all to-night in my bed. But
you were to fight it while there was a shot
left—that was her dying wish. Says she to
me, poor child, 'Nunkey,' says she, 'as I did
not get what I thought I'd get,' says she, ' I
may as well have the purchase-money back
again, and do what I like with it.' What d'ye
think she meant, Tillotson? Maybe she was
wandering. But those were the words, for I
got them by heart."

"No," said he, with a sigh, " she was in her
senses indeed. I understand them perfectly,
and her wishes shall be carried out to the
letter."

At this moment the servant brought in letters,
just come by post. Mr. Tillotson looked at
them mechanically. " The bank," he said, half
bitterly. " They want me back again, I
suppose?"

"Then again," said the captain, eagerly,
"that might be the salvation of you. I wish I
had been bred to business when I was
young."

Mr. Tillotson was reading his letters, and
gave a little start. " Poor Bowater," he said,
"gone too! Death seems to be coming in
where—now—even into banks."

END OF BOOK THE THIRD.

BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.  A VISIT FROM MR. TILNEY.

MORE than six months had passed away since
that evening. Mr. Tillotson had gone back
with an enforced ardour to the concerns of his
bank, and had begun to find in it, if not a
fascination, at least a distraction. The death of
Mr. Bowater, M.P., our "esteemed and valued
chairman," had left "a void in our council
almost impossible to fill," so at least said the
company's report, couched in terms of deep
financial affliction. However, when the day of
the half-yearly meeting came round, which it
did in a few months, the sorrowing council and
officers prepared with great alacrity to replace
the loss they had sustained, and there seemed to
be a private impression abroad that the new
substitute for the lamented chief would be a
better man. " We want new blood," said the
secretary to director A. B. " Poor old Bowater
talked a little too much," said A. B. to C. D.
"There was more wind in him than sense," said
another on the board. This seemed a little
inconsistent with the sorrowing report. But when
the day of election came round, it was determined,
according to the secretary's phrase, to
"run Tillotson" for the place. This might seem
a curious selection, for he was indifferent and
languid, and only lately had begun to take
interest in the concern; but he had many
recommendations. He had a great deal of money in
the concern; he was a gentleman by birth and
connexion, which, strange to say, seemed to have
an extraordinary charm for such as had neither;
and lastly, he had a "first-class head," could
"see into a granite wall," &c. The secretary
even quoted some last words of " poor old
Bowater when near his end," when that financier
was babbling away of his green fields, Foncier
stock, and the Plata securities, in reference to
the management of that Bhootan business.
"The Duke of Wellington could not have done
it better than Tillotson," was the odd form of
praise he used. When the day of meeting came