clattered in and put on iron pattens; amongst
groups of navvies resting from their toil at midday
beside yawning pits whose earthy bed
revealed vast iron main-pipes for the conveyance
of gas or water through the town; by spruce
young clerks, and steady middle-aged cashiers;
by doctors, lawyers, tradesmen, and servants—
the failure of the great banking firm of Benett
and Benett was discussed eagerly.

Benett and Benett were not Hammerham
people; but they had a branch establishment
in the great Midland town; and around the
closed doors of this establishment little knots
of people gathered and lingered, with a wistful
interest in the barred window-shutters, and an
insatiable curiosity about everybody who gained
admittance into the silent house. Once or
twice during the day succeeding the public
announcement that Benett and Benett had
stopped payment, a cab had dashed up to the
closed door of the bank, a young man, carrying
papers in his hand, had jumped out of the
vehicle, and, after ringing at the bell, had been
admitted, and the door again jealously closed
behind him. This incident had been much
relished at each time of its occurrence by the
mob of idlers.

"It's young Charlewood," observed one.
"Ah, Gandry and Charlewood's eldest son,"
said another.

"Don't he look pale? I wonder if they're
hit very bad!"

"Oh, not them! They're a long chalk too
rich. It's the poor folks as suffers the most,
allus."

"Very true, sir. Why, do you suppose
now as Gandry and Charlewood—or Benett and
Benett either, for that matter—'ll go without
their glass of port wine at dinner to-day? Not
a bit on it. Lord, they could swim in port wine,
if they liked to it."

"Ah, and the poor working man helps to pay
for it all," chimed in a lounging young fellow,
who had passed the whole morning in a
lethargy of idleness leaning against a post
opposite the bank door.

It was a time altogether of gloom, oppression,
and panic. There are many business-houses,
stable and flourishing, among us at this
day, the heads of which were racked with doubt
and terror and uncertainty for weeks after the
memorable failure of Benett and Benett.
Hundreds were ruined irretrievably. The great
house raised so dense a dust in falling, that it
was not until the cloud had begun to clear off
a little that it became possible to ascertain the
extent of the ruins that had come crashing down
with it. The shock paralysed all those who
came within the region of its influence at first,
and then there followed a confused sauve qui
peut scramble amidst the rubbish.

Day after day brought fresh tidings of
disaster. Clement Charlewood had been but
too correct in his previsions of wide-spread
mischief. There was no time to look around
for help, to prop the tottering fabrics, or even
to depart from them unscathed. Shock
succeeded shock, like those terrible South American
earthquakes that lay waste wide cities in
a few convulsive throes. Clement was
indefatigable, energetic, thinking of everything,
sparing his father as much as it was possible
to spare him, shielding his mother and sister, as
far as in him lay, from the wearing suspense
and anxiety he was doomed to suffer himself.
They knew that much was wrong, but they did
not guess the extent of the mischief.

"If matters come to the worst, my mother
and Penny will know it soon enough," he said
to his father. "If Penny could do anything, I
would advise you to be open with her at once;
but as she would be powerless to help us in
this matter, we may as well spare her as long as
there is hope of our tiding over. But I would
recommend that you write a line to Walter,
giving him a hint that he may shortly have to
retrench very greatly. He is thoughtless, and
has got again into that set of Arthur Skidley's,
and he has had one way and another very
large sums of money from you lately."

"Poor Wat," groaned the father. "Poor
Wat, poor Wat! It's so hard upon him."

"It isn't light upon any of us, sir."

"No; but Watty has such a spirit, and he's
never been taught to know the value of money;
and then he's got into such a high set. There
never was such a boy for making high friends
as Watty. You'll stand by your brother. Clem?
You—you won't desert him?"

"Desert him, father?"

"No, no; I'm sure you never will, my lad.
You'll do better for them all than——You'll
remember what I say, Clem, and stand by your
brother. Poor Watty! Such high friends as
he'd made!"

In the midst of these anxieties, and of the
overwhelming occupations that crowded upon
him, Clement received the following note from
Mrs. Saxelby:

"Dear Mr. Charlewood. It is so long since
I have seen any of you, that I hesitated to
write lest you should have forgotten my very
existence. But I am so harassed, and so in
want of a little advice and assistance, that,
remembering your many former kindnesses, and
your promises of continued friendship, I
venture to ask you to spare me half an hour at
the cottage to-day or to-morrow, and at any
hour that may suit you. I am leaving Hazlehurst
to join Mabel in Ireland. Dooley sends
you his love.

"Yours always sincerely,
"CLARA SAXELBY."

"I hear rumours of great disasters in the
business world. I trust they do not in any
way affect you. " C. S."

The note was brought to Clement in the
office, as he sat at his desk, heaped high with a
mass of papers, and after a minute's consideration
he hastily wrote a couple of lines, which
ran thus:

"Dear Mrs. Saxelby. I will be with you at