"Oh, I don't know. I had them on when I went to see that----woman out of the house." Calling Susan to assist in the search, Katherine looked carefully in the hall, but in vain, when her young assistant gave a cry of joy; she had almost trodden on them as they lay between a mangy mat and the foot of the stairs. The recovery of his precious glasses did more to soothe the ruffled spirit of the recluse than anything else. He wiped them tenderly, and looking through them, observed that they were all right. Then he sat in profound silence, while Susan, under Katherine's directions, cleared up the hearth, and removed the heap of dust and ashes which had nearly put out the fire. When she had retired, carrying off the tray, Mr. Liddell turned his keen eyes on his young visitor, and said: "You came in the nick of time, and you seem to know what you are about; but I dare say I should have pulled through without you. Now about your story. Before anything else I must be assured that you are really Frederic Liddell's daughter. Not that your being so gives you the smallest claim upon me." "I suppose it does not," returned Katherine, sadly. "Still, if you could help us with a loan at this trying time it might be the saving of our fortunes, and both my mother and myself would do our best to repay you." "That's but indifferent security," said the miser with a sardonic grin. "I feel sure that my mother's novel will succeed. It is a beautiful story--and you know how some of the best books have been rejected--and when it is taken they will give her at least a hundred pounds for it!" cried Katherine, eagerly. "Good Lord! a hundred pounds for trashy scribblings." "They are not trash, sir," returned Katherine, with spirit. "And what sum do you want on this first-class security?" he asked. "Oh, thirty or forty pounds!" she said, her heart beating with wild anxiety. "Thirty pounds! Why, that is a fortune!" "It would be to us," said Katherine, fighting bravely against a desperate inclination to cry. "And all you have to offer in exchange is a mortgage on an unpublished novel?" "We have nothing in the world but the furniture," she replied, with a slight sob. "Furniture!" repeated Mr. Liddell, sharply. "How much?--how many rooms have you?" "A drawing-room and dining-room, my mother's study, and four bedrooms, besides--" "Well!" exclaimed Liddell, interrupting her, "you'll have a hundred pounds' worth in it, and I dare say it cost you two. Now you have shown you have some knowledge of the value of money, and you have served me well at this uncomfortable crisis. I'll tell you what I will do; I'll write to my solicitor to go and see you, at the address you have told me, to-morrow. He shall find out if you are speaking the truth, and look at your goods and chattels. If he reports favorably I will do something for you, on the security of the furniture. You haven't given a bill of sale to any one else, I suppose?"