CHAPTER II.

KLEINWORT AND CO. IN CONSULTATION.

Drowning men catch at straws. It is not the fault of the straws that they fail to save, and assuredly it is not the fault of the drowning men that they carry the straws to destruction with them.

The General Chemical Company on that Friday evening when Mr. Kleinwort was asked to bring his persuasive powers to bear on the recusant family at Homewood, chanced to be in precisely the state of a drowning man making frantic clutches at safety, and Mr. Forde's worst enemy might have pitied him had he understood all Mr. Mortomley's "going" meant to the manager of St. Vedast Wharf.

He had driven out to Homewood vowing that Mortomley, willing or unwilling, should not stop, and it was only when he found affairs had passed beyond his control, that he began to think whether there was no way out of the difficulty.

Like an inspiration the idea of keeping the whole thing quiet, of hoodwinking his directors, and of holding the ball still at his feet, occurred to him.

He had to do with fools, and he humoured them according to their folly, and indeed the notion of suggesting the substitution of the Company's solicitor for the solicitor of Mr. Mortomley amounted almost to a stroke of genius.

To Kleinwort there was a certain humour in the idea of first gibbeting a man as a rogue, and then treating him as a simpleton. It was a feat the German performed mentally every day, but then he kept the affair secret between himself and his brains. He did not possess the frankness of that "so droll Forde," and the tactics of his friend tickled him extremely.

And yet, truth to say, Mrs. Mortomley was not so supreme an idiot as the autocrat of St. Vedast's Wharf imagined.

She had her misgivings, which Rupert pooh-poohed, declaring that peace was well purchased at so small a price, and that for such a purpose one lawyer was quite as good as another.

"Still, I should like to speak to Archie's solicitor about it," she persisted.

"That is what you cannot do, for he is out of town," answered the young man; "and very fortunate that he is, for if you went to him and he went to Forde there would only be another row, and the whole affair perhaps knocked on the head again."

"I thought no one could prevent Archie petitioning," she remarked.

"Neither can any one," was the reply; "but it might be made confoundedly unpleasant for him after he had petitioned."

Which all sounded very well, and was possibly very true, but it failed to satisfy Dolly.

Sleep had not for many a long month previously been a constant visitor at Homewood, and whenever Mrs. Mortomley awoke, which she did twenty times through that night, the vexed question of Mr. Benning's interposition recurred to her.

Look at it in whatever light she would, her mind misgave her. If it made no difference in the end, if it were no advantage to the Chemical Company, she could not understand the object of so strange a proposal. Rupert had indeed explained the matter by saying, "Forde wanted the thing kept quiet;" but then why should the thing be kept quiet. In whose interests and for whose benefit was it that such secrecy had to be maintained. Pestered as her husband had been with demands for money, with writs, and with sheriff's officers and their men, it seemed to Mrs. Mortomley that all the world must already be acquainted with the position of their affairs.

"What can the object be they have in view?" she asked over and over again whilst she lay thinking--thinking through the long dark hours. "How I wish Mr. Leigh were in town?" And then all at once she bethought her that within a walk of Homewood there resided a gentleman with whose family she had some slight acquaintance, and who chanced himself to be a solicitor.

This fact had been stamped on Dolly's mind by hearing of the unearthly hours at which even in the dead of winter he was in the habit of breakfasting so as to admit of his reaching his offices, situated somewhere at the west, by nine o'clock.

"I will ask him, and be guided by his reply," she decided, and accordingly she rose at cock-crow and, dressing herself in all haste, went across the fields, along the lanes to that sweet residence the lawyer prized so much, and of which he saw so little.

She met him at his own gate, and asked permission to walk a little way with him towards the station. "She wanted to ask only one question," she said, "but it was necessary to preface that by a little explanation."

In as few words as sufficed for the purpose--and Heaven knows very few suffice to tell a man is ruined--Mrs. Mortomley laid the state of the case before her acquaintance.

"Will it make any difference to my husband if Mr. Benning applies to the Bankruptcy Court instead of Mr. Leigh?" she finished by inquiring.

"None whatever," was the unhesitating reply.

"You are certain?" she persisted.

"Yes; I cannot see why it should alter his position or injure him in the slightest degree."

"Does it not strike you as a very extraordinary proposition?"

"Well, yes," he agreed, "but no doubt it will be desirable for Mr. Mortomley to raise no obstacle against their wishes. It is always advantageous for a man to have a large creditor on his side."

"Mr. Halling says they want to keep the affair quiet," she went on. "Why should they want that, and how should employing their own solicitor enable them to do it?"

"I can only conjecture," was the answer, "that they desire the extent of their own loss not to be made public, and by employing their own solicitor they will manage to keep the application out of the papers."

"I am very, very much obliged to you," she said as they shook hands.

"Not at all," he replied. "Command me at any time if I can be of service to you," and they parted; but she had not retraced a dozen steps before he ran after her and said,

"I think, Mrs. Mortomley, were I in your place I should see Mr. Leigh whenever he returns to town."

Which in all human probability Mrs. Mortomley would have done without his recommendation. Nevertheless, the hint was kindly meant, as his previous opinion, spoken by an utterly honourable man, had been honestly given.

Upon the whole, however, I am not quite sure, seeing what one sees, whether honourable men and thoroughly conscientious lawyers are exactly the fittest people to help and counsel those who have reached the crises of their lives.

Through the years to come, at all events, Dolly carried a certain agonised memory of that morning walk, and the consequences her adviser's words ensured to her and hers.

It was a fine September morning, the last fine morning that month held in the especial year to which I refer. Had she been able to shake an instinctive dread off her mind, she would, escaping for the hour from the sight of sickness and the haunting feeling of men in possession, have thoroughly enjoyed the calm landscape, the long stretches of country across which her eyes, wearied though they were with night watching, could roam freely. To right and to left lay the flat rich Essex lands on which cattle were browsing peacefully, whilst at no great distance were patches and pieces of woodland left still to tell Epping once was more than a near neighbour to all the hamlets that formerly nestled under its leafy shadows, and which are now becoming part and parcel of the Great Babylon itself. In the distance she beheld dark masses of foliage standing out darkly against the sky, showing that there the monarchs of the forest still held the axe and the lords of the soil at defiance, whilst ever and anon the light, rapid feet tripping along field-paths, bordered by grass still wet and heavy with dew, passed close by some stately park over which the silence and peace of riches seemed brooding.

But as matters stood, the fresh morning air and the silence and the peace conferred upon other people by the riches possessed by them brought little balm to Dolly.

She had been told there was but one course for her to pursue, and she had pursued it. She had been told it would lead to such comfort as was now an utter stranger at Homewood, but she did not feel satisfied on that point.

A woman's instincts are always keener than her reason, and by instinct Dolly vaguely comprehended there were dangers and difficulties ahead. Sunken rocks and treacherous sandbanks, of which the amateur pilots who advised the management of the business craft knew nothing.

And yet she felt any sacrifice which could rid the house of its late, and present, unwelcome guests would be worth making. In the centre of a great field she stood still clasping her hands above her head and breathed a luxurious sigh of relief at the idea of having Homewood to herself and family once more.

"Without those dreadful creatures," she said quite aloud, and then she gave her fancy wing and planned a course of papering, painting, and white-washing after their departure, as she might have done had fever or cholera taken up its abode for a time in the house.

Which was perhaps ungrateful in Mrs. Mortomley, seeing the obnoxious visitors had tried to respect her feelings in every possible manner--kept themselves as much out of sight as possible--smoked their pipes so as to give the smallest amount of annoyance--offered such assistance as their physical and mental habits of laziness rendered available when Cook and Jane departed, and said to each other, they had never seen a "house go on so regular under similar circumstances as Homewood, nor a lady who took it all so quiet as the mistress of that establishment."

And this was true. No one connected with Homewood "took it so quiet" as Mrs. Mortomley.

I have a fancy that on those who turn the bravest and brightest face to misfortune, the evil presence leaves the most permanent marks of its passage. I think oftentimes while the face wreathes itself with smiles, the cruel foot-prints are impressing themselves on the heart.

Whether this be so or not, it is quite certain that although Dolly never once, never showed through all that weary campaign a sign of the white feather, the whole thing was to her as the single drop torture.

It wore in upon her nature, it made a deep rugged channel through her soul. And she was powerless to act. When Mortomley consented at Mr. Forde's bidding to "go on" after he himself had decided to stop, when Dolly consented that Mr. Benning should step into the shoes of their own solicitor, they virtually threw up their cards and gave the game to their adversaries.

Not less did Samson, when he confided to the keeping of a woman the secret of his strength, dream of the dungeon and the tormentors than did Mortomley and his wife, when they so blindly surrendered their future, dream of the misery and poverty in store.

And yet Dolly had a prevision that evil must ensue. Well, not even the gift of second sight can avert a man's doom when the hour draws near, but it may help him to meet it bravely.

Mrs. Mortomley herself often thought that vague dread and uneasiness which oppressed her when all things seemed going as they wished, prepared her in some sort for the future she was called upon to encounter.

Could she have been present at an interview which a couple of hours later took place in Mr. Kleinwort's offices she would have faintly comprehended how he and his friends wished to liquidate Mortomley's estate.

They desired to get the whole matter into their own hands, and "keep it quiet," but when the pros and cons of how this could be managed came to be discussed, unforeseen difficulties arose at each stage of the conversation.

"You had better be trustee," said Mr. Forde, turning to Henry Werner, who for reasons best known to himself and Kleinwort and Co., had been requested to grace the interview.

"What the devil should I be trustee for?" asked that amiable individual. "The man does not owe me sixpence."

"All the better for you," was the reply, whereat all the rest of those present laughed. At such times laughter does go round, and it certainly was not unlike the sound of "thorns crackling under a pot."

"And all the better for us and those others, the rest of the creditors, because you must be so much disinterested," added Kleinwort, in his caressing manner, laying a fat and insinuating hand on Mr. Werner's shoulder.

Mr. Werner shook it off as if it had been a toad.

"Don't be a fool, Kleinwort. You know I am not going to be trustee to any estate in which the General Chemical Company is interested. And if that Company had no interest in Mortomley, I still should refuse to take part in the matter. I have known Mrs. Mortomley ever since her marriage, and I would have nothing to do with anything in which she is concerned directly or indirectly. Between her and my own wife, and you and the other creditors, I should lead a nice life. I thank you very much, but I do not see it at all."

"That is all very fine," remarked Mr. Forde, "considering it was through you I knew this Mortomley, and through him we are all let into this hole."

"If you happen to have made a mistake about either statement," observed Mr. Werner, "you can correct it in a few days. I am in no hurry."

The manager opened his mouth to reply, but thinking better of the matter shut it again. Whilst Mr. Benning who had been surveying the trio with an expression of the most impartial distrust, said sharply,

"Come, gentlemen, defer the settlement of your differences to some more suitable opportunity. I cannot stay here all day whilst you discuss extraneous matters. Whom shall we propose for trustee?"

"Hadn't we better have Nelson," suggested Mr. Forde, with a quick glance at Mr. Kleinwort.

"Who is Nelson," asked Mr. Werner.

"One of our clerks; don't you remember?" answered the manager deprecatingly.

"Hadn't you better recommend the nearest crossing-sweeper?" commented Mr. Werner. "He would do quite as well, and perhaps be considered far more respectable."

"You come here, Forde. I know the very person. I want to tell you. Just not for more than one second;" and with that Mr. Kleinwort, with an apologetic smile to his other visitors, drew Mr. Forde out of the office, and whispered a considerable amount of diplomatic advice in his ear while they stood together on the landing.

"I cannot think it is a good thing for you to appear as Mortomley's solicitor in this, Benning," said Mr. Werner when he and that gentleman were left alone.

"I do not see any way in which it can be a bad thing for me," was the calm reply. "Of course I shall keep myself safe."

"I am sure you will do that so long as you are able," argued Mr. Werner. "The question is can you keep your employers safe?"

"I shall do the best in my power, of course, for Mr. Mortomley," answered Mr. Benning.

"Because if there should be any bother about the matter hereafter," continued Mr. Werner, as coolly as if the lawyer had not spoken, "it may be deuced awkward for the St. Vedast Wharf folks--and--and--some other people."

"I do not imagine there will be any bother," said Mr. Benning.

"There is no help for it if you allow Kleinwort to dictate to you."

"I do not intend to allow him to dictate to me," was the reply.

"It was such folly the pair starting off to Homewood yesterday evening and setting Mrs. Mortomley's mane up at once."

"I do not attach much importance to that, but still I am surprised at Kleinwort committing such a mistake; a man who thinks himself so confoundedly clever, too."

"He is clever; he is the cleverest man I knew," commented Mr. Werner.

"I dare say he is," agreed Mr. Benning; "but you remember those who live longest see most of the game, and some one, I doubt not, will live to know how many trumps our little friend really holds."

Mr. Werner laughed--not pleasantly.

"You try to see the cards of all other men, Benning, but you do not show your own."

"I have none to show," was the reply. "A man in my position cannot afford to play at pitch and toss with fortune. Great gains and great losses, great risks and great successes I am forced to leave to--well, say Kleinwort. His name is as good as that of any other man with which to finish the sentence."

"And yet to look at his office," began Mr. Werner.

Mr. Benning had been in it a dozen times before, and knew every article it contained. Nevertheless, he apparently accepted his companion's remark as an invitation to have still another glance, and his eyes wandered slowly and thoughtfully over every object in the room.

When he had quite finished his scrutiny, he said,

"You are quite right. To look around his office, Mr. Kleinwort ought never to have had a transaction with the General Chemical Company, and if I had any young client in whom I was interested, I should advise him never to have a transaction with Mr. Kleinwort."

"Indeed, you are mistaken," remarked Mr. Werner eagerly. "I never meant to imply anything of the kind."

"Oh! indeed," replied the lawyer. "Well, it does not signify, but I thought you did."

"I never do attempt conversation with any one of these fellows but I have reason to repent it," Mr. Werner observed thoughtfully to himself, and there was a considerable amount of truth in the remark. Conversation in the City, if a man have anything to conceal, is about as safe and pleasant an exercise as walking through a field set with spring guns.

Kleinwort's _pour-parler_ kept him safe enough, skirting with pleasant phrases and apparently foolish devices round and about dangerous ground, but Werner did not chance to be quite so great a rogue as his friend, and he certainly regarded life and its successes much more seriously, though not more earnestly, than the man who was good enough to "make use of England."

Upon the whole Mr. Werner felt relieved that before Mr. Benning could take up his parable again the door opened, and Messrs. Forde and Kleinwort reappeared, the latter exclaiming,

"We have got him now; the right man for the right place; Duncombe, you know Duncombe."

"I cannot say that I do," answered Mr. Benning, while Henry Werner, with an impatient "Pshaw," turned on his heel, and walked to the window, against the panes of which a fine drizzling rain was beginning to beat.

"It seems to me, sir," began Mr. Forde irritably, "that as you are unwilling to make any suggestion yourself, you might find some better employment than objecting to the suggestions of others."

"That is enough," was the reply. "Manage the affair after your own lights, and see where they will ultimately land you."

"Who is Duncombe?" inquired Mr. Benning.

"A most respectable man; A1, sir," explained Mr. Forde. "The London representative of Fleck, Handley and Company, whose works are at Oldbury, Staffordshire."

"Oh!" said Mr. Benning. He was beginning to recollect something about Fleck, Handley and Co., and their London representative also.

"A large firm in a large way," continued Mr. Forde. "They have extensive transactions with the G. C. C. Limited."

"Which fact in itself is a proof of respectability and solvency," added Werner with his bitter tongue.

"Ah! but they are not accountants," commented Mr. Benning, affecting unconsciousness of the sneer. "And we must have an accountant, or we shall meet with no end of difficulty. The position of affairs, as I understand it, is this: Mr. Mortomley is either unable to go on or else wishes to stop. The result is the same, let the cause be which it may. He wishes the affair kept quiet or some of his creditors do. To effect this object he wishes me to act for him in the matter. Now, if I am to do so effectually, it is needful for us to have a trustee about whose _bona fides_ there can be no question. It is not enough for us that a man is a very honest fellow or useful or expedient. We must have some one with a known name accustomed to this sort of work. It is perfect waste of time racking our brains to think which Dick or Tom or Harry will answer our purpose best. We can have no Dick or Tom or Harry. This is not a small affair, and the Court will require some responsible man to take the management of such an estate."

"There is no estate to manage," interposed Mr. Forde. "The whole thing has been muddled away, or made away with."

"If that be your real opinion, the whole thing had better go into bankruptcy at once," said Mr. Benning.

"No--no--no--no, not at all; by no means, no," exclaimed Mr. Kleinwort as the lawyer rose as if intending to depart. "That must not be. I, Kleinwort, say no. Forde is rash--rash. He knows not what is good or best. He talks beyond the mark."

"Come, Forde, reckon up your respectable acquaintances, and tell us the name of the blackest sheep you know amongst the accountant tribe," suggested Mr. Werner. "Your experience has been large enough, Heaven knows."

"Will you stop jeering or not?" asked Mr. Forde. "Considering Mr. Mortomley is your bosom friend, I think the way you talk of this matter scarcely decent."

"Nay," answered Mr. Werner. "Mortomley has been your bosom friend it seems to me. Certainly, had he asked my advice a few years ago, we four would not have had the arrangement of his destiny to-day. And as for bosom friends," he added in a lower tone, "a businessman has none, and no friends either for that matter. Such luxuries are not for us."

"Do, for heaven's sake, let us keep to the matter in hand," exclaimed Mr. Benning. "Will you name an accountant or shall I?"

The manager looked at Mr. Kleinwort, and then once again the German led his, so good friend, out of the room.

Mr. Benning watched the pair till the door closed behind them, and then turning to Mr. Werner, said,

"Will you allow me to ask you one question? How does it happen so astute a man as you has anything to do with St. Vedast Wharf?"

"Trade, like poverty, makes one acquainted with strange bedfellows," was the reply.

"That is very true; but why are you mixing yourself up with this man Mortomley?"

Mr. Werner paused a moment before he answered, and a dull red streak appeared on each side his face, while he hesitated about his answer.

Then he looked his interlocutor straight in the eyes and said,

"Because I want to keep Forde at St. Vedast Wharf for another twelvemonth."

Mr. Benning, between his teeth, gave vent to a low but most unlawyer-like whistle.

"That's it, is it," he commented.

"That is it," agreed Mr. Werner.

"And Kleinwort ditto?" said the lawyer, inquiringly.

"So far as I know," was the reply.

Then observed Mr. Benning,

"I am infinitely obliged by your frankness. I could not see my way before, but I think I can discern daylight now."

"It must be through a very dark tunnel then," remarked Mr. Werner bitterly.

"We must keep Mortomley's business moving."

"That is what Kleinwort says, but I confess I do not see how it is to be done."

"Where there is a will there is always a way," was the calm rejoinder. "Well, gentlemen," he added, as Mr. Kleinwort returned leading his friend with him. "Have you found a suitable man; because if not, I must."

"Yes, yes," answered Kleinwort irritably, for he and Mr. Forde had been arguing a little hotly over the trustee question. "Do you happen to know one very good man, one true dear Christian who makes long prayers, and has snow hair hanging loose, and wears a white neckhandkerchief so pure and faultless--"

"What is his name?" interrupted Mr. Benning.

"Asherill," answered Mr. Forde.

"You mean the old humbug in Salisbury House I suppose," commented Mr. Benning, after a moment's pause. "Well, I don't know but that he might serve our purpose as well as any one if he will undertake the business. But you know, in spite of its sheep's clothing, what a cunning old wolf it is. He understands it behoves him to be careful, and he is. Give him a straightforward case, however small, and he is satisfied.

"He will strip the debtor clean as a whistle, and then sympathize with the creditors over the depravity of debtors in general, and that especial sinner of a debtor in particular. But take any estate to him, no matter how large the liquidation of which _may_ subsequently be called in question, and he says, even while his mouth is watering for the _bonne bouche_,

"'No, no, thank you, my dear kind friend, very much, but I have my prejudices, foolish no doubt, but insurmountable. Other men have not those prejudices, and will do your work better--far better. Thank you so very, very much. Good-bye. God bless you.'"

It was not in Kleinwort--who always loved hearing one Englishmen ridicule or anathematize another--to refrain from laughing at the foregoing sentence which the lawyer delivered with a solemn pomposity Mr. Asherill himself might have envied, and even Mr. Werner smiled at the imitation. But Mr. Forde, who could never see a joke unless he chanced to be easy in his mind, which of late was an event of infrequent occurrence, looked upon Kleinwort's merriment as unseemly, and telling him not to be an ass, took up the broken thread of conversation by remarking,

"I do not think Asherill will make any objection in this case. In the first place there is nothing doubtful about the transaction, and in the second place Mr. Samuel Witney, who is--in religion--a friend of his, and who has often done him a good turn, happens to be one of our directors."

"I should not feel inclined to place much dependence on either fact," said Mr. Benning. "But as I suppose you understand your own business--let us try Asherill. I have to attend a meeting of creditors, and shall not be able to see him to-day; but you," turning to Messrs. Kleinwort and Werner, "had better do so, and take a note from me at the same time."

"I have got my own business to attend to," remarked Mr. Werner.

"And so have I in most good truth," echoed Kleinwort piteously.

"Well, attend to your own and Mortomley's also for to-day. After that I promise you shall be troubled no more about Mortomley or his estate." So spoke Mr. Benning, and his words recommended themselves to Henry Werner.

"On that understanding," he said, "I will do what you wish."

"I must stay here till twelve," pleaded Kleinwort. "After that, any time, anywhere."

"I will be here at quarter past twelve;" and having made this appointment, Mr. Werner bade good morning to the lawyer and the manager, and ran down the stone stairs leading from Kleinwort's office as if the plague had been after him.

"There is nothing more to say I suppose," nervously suggested Mr. Forde as the lawyer buttoned up his coat, and requested the loan of an umbrella.

"We are going to have a nasty day," he remarked. "I will send the umbrella back directly I get to my place. No. I don't think there is anything more to say. I understand the position, and hope everything may go on satisfactorily."

Mr. Forde buttoned up his coat, walked to the window, looked out at the sky, which was by this time leaden, and at the rain, which had begun to come down in good earnest. Then he grasped his umbrella, and after saying, "I shall wait at the wharf till I see you, Kleinwort," heaved a weary sigh, and departed likewise.

"My dear, dear friend, how I should like to keep you waiting there for me, for ever," soliloquised Kleinwort, in his native tongue, which was a very cruel speech, inasmuch as if Mr. Forde had any strong belief, it was a faith in Kleinwort's personal attachment to himself.

In moments of confidence indeed he had told those far-seeing friends whose confidence in the German was of that description which objects to trust a man out of its sight, "I dare say he is a little thief, but I am quite sure of one thing; he may swindle other people, but he will never let in ME." A touching proof of the simplicity some persons are able to retain in spite of their knowledge of the wickedness of their fellow-creatures. Faith is perhaps the worst commodity with which to set up in business in the City, since it is so seldom justified by works.

When Mr. Werner returned to keep his appointment he found Mr. Kleinwort, his coat off, a huge cigar in his mouth, busily engaged in writing letters.

"Just one, two minutes," he said, "then I am yours to command. Sit down."

"No; thank you. I will wait for you outside. I wonder what you think I am made of if you expect me to breathe in this atmosphere."

And he walked on to the landing, where Kleinwort soon joined him.

"I must have some brandy," remarked that gentleman. "I am worn out, exhausted, faint. Look at me," and he held up his hands, which were shaking, and pointed to his cheeks, which were livid.

Mr. Werner did look at him, though with little apparent pleasure in the operation.

"Have what you want, then," he said. "Can't you get it there?" and he pointed to a place on the opposite side of the street where bottles were ranged conspicuously against the window-glass.

"There! My good Werner, of what are your thoughts made? The spirits there sold are so bad no water was never no worse."

"I should not have thought you a judge of the quality of any water except soda-water," answered Werner grimly.

"Ah!" was the reply; "but you are English. You have inherited nothing good, imaginative, poetic, from your father's fatherland."

"If by that you mean I have no knowledge of the quality of every tap in the metropolis, you are right, and, what is more, I do not want to have anything to do with poetry or imagination if either assumes that particular development."

"We put all those things on one side for an instant," suggested Kleinwort, making a sudden dive into a tavern which occupied a non-conspicuous position in an alley through which they were passing, leaving Werner standing on the pavement wet as a brook from the torrents of rain that were at last coming down as if a second deluge had commenced.

When Kleinwort reappeared, which he did almost immediately, his cheeks had resumed their natural hue, and the hand which grasped his umbrella was steady enough.

"If I drank as much as you," commented Mr. Werner, "I should go mad."

"And if I drank as you so little I should go mad," was the answer. "You have got in your lovely English some vulgar saying about meat and poison."

"Yes, and you will have something which is called _delirium tremens_ one of these days if you do not mind what you are about."

"Shall I? No, I think not. When the engine has not need to work no longer, it will be that I lower the steam. Some day, some blessed day, I shall return to mine own land to there take mine ease."

"I wish to God you had never left it," muttered Henry Werner, and it was after the exchange of these amenities that the pair ascended to the offices of Asherill and Swanland, Salisbury House.