"I tell you it is the other. It is final now;
and I give you warning, you had better make
us up some of our costs at once. We can't
afford to be out of our money any longer."

"I won't believe it," said Ross, wildly.
" Why, it's ruin. I may as well go into the
union. Do they call this law and justice?
Where's the verdict and the judgment of that
court? What does it mean ?"

CHAPTER XX. COUNSEL WITH THE CAPTAIN.

THAT night Mr. Tillotson was pacing up and
down his study in a state of excitement. Even his
own household had noticed the curious change
that had come over him lately, not only his
old moodiness, but a fretfulness and ill temper.
He went very often to the window, and looked
out impatiently. " Ah," he said aloud, " she
can give him small comfort. Let him make
what he can of his time." Then the cab drove
up, and Mrs. Tillotson returned.

She came at once into the study. The soft
face was bent down before him, and the soft
voice pleaded. " If you are not busy now,
could I speak to you?"

"Asking leave to speak with me!" he said,
bitterly. " Well, well, what can I do for you?
Money?"

"No, no," she said, hastily; " it is about
this—this—wretched business of to-day." As
the words escaped her, she saw their
inappropriateness.

He coloured. " I see," he said, " your
husband's victory is a wretched business. What do
you wish me to do?"

"I know," she said, ardently, " that you are
generous and noble, and even chivalrous. No
one has ever made such sacrifices; and though
I have no right to make such a request, still I
would plead with you for that poor miserable
Ross. We are rich, and do not want this
estate. He is so unfortunate, and so
unaccountable for his actions, that I am sure you
will be glad to do this. In fact, for my
sake, I would ask you to do this: and you are
so good and so generous, I know you will not
refuse me."

Mr. Tillotson's lips quivered. " This I must
altogether decline," he said, rising and going
to the window. " It seems ungracious to resist
so warm an appeal, but I have thought of it and
made up my mind. I have given up, in fact,
being the quixotic, the soft, good-natured man
of society which I have been for only too many
years, and have determined to be like other
men—business-like and practical. Really, it is
being too generous to fight a battle for so many
years only to give up the fruits on the very day
of the victory! No, I must decline. I can do
nothing for that man. You are witness of all
I have endured at his hands; and I am a little
surprised that you should be such a persistent
advocate. Of course, you have your reasons."

She looked at him calmly. " I have," she
said. " He was my earliest friend. He loved
me, as I believe now, for years steadily. I
should be heartless if I had not some feeling
for him on the day of his ruin. If we cast him
off now, he will go from bad to worse, and end
miserably, I foresee as clearly as I am looking
at you, and his ruin will be on our heads."

"My head I suppose you mean," he said.
"Then I accept it. But it is his own work,
his own doing. It is his own concern what
becomes of him, in spite of your eloquent pleading
for him. I don't care. The law must take its
course, as they say. I shan't interfere with it.
I am not called on to do so. And here, if I do
not go too far, I may state what my wish and
desire is—I suppose command is out of the
question. I thought I had shown very clearly
what I wished, that you would not hold any
communication with the man who has behaved
as he has done to your husband. I only say
this for the decency of the thing, and for
what we owe to society. But now I repeat
what I said before, and must require that you
do not see, hear from, nor write to this man, nor
to any of his friends. These are my wishes.
I neither desire to hasten nor retard his
destruction."

She looked at him with wonder. " You are
sadly changed," she said, warmly; " you used
not to speak so coldly or with such inhumanity.
What is the reason of all this? What have I
done? What crime is there in asking you to be
indulgent to an old friend?"

"An old friend," he repeated sarcastically,
"and what crime is there in my declining to
have anything to do with a desperate man whose
life has been out one long insult to me? Is that
his recommendation ?"

She answered with more excitement: " No,
his recommendation is that he is in misery and
want, and that he is unfortunate. You must
not ask me to accept this prohibition. I cannot
be so unkind as to abandon him to despair.
I am sure you will not. When you come to
think of it calmly, your real nature will show
itself."

"I repeat," said her husband, " what I
said before. I desire, I forbid that you either
see or hear from him. You, of course, can act as
you please. As for assisting him in any way,
or interfering with the law, my final answer is, I
decline to do either."

She looked at him a moment with a calm
gaze in which were mingled surprise and grief,
then left the room without a word. From that
hour the demons of coldness and distrust, bitterness
and pride, descended with all their hideous
shadows and found quarters in that house.

In her own room that afternoon, Mrs. Tillotson
sat with a flush upon her cheek, the golden
hair resting on her hand. She had a proud
nature, and with all her softness and sweetness it
had heen known in her own family that she
always was sensitive to resent what was injustice
to others. " And after all the sacrifice I made!"
This she said over very often and aloud. Her
heart was full of pity for the luckless and
unfortunate Ross. Yet she knew not what to do.
But after much thought she saw that the only