"It is," replied Mr. Tracy, in a slow, thoughtful tone, "that within one fortnight, my good friend, I have to pay nearly one hundred and fifty thousand pounds; and forty-nine thousand pounds thereof within four days, without time to make the necessary arrangements, almost without time for thought. I wrote up to sell shares, to meet the latter sum, at whatever might be the loss; and the answer was that letter, telling me that the shares I mentioned were a mere drug--worth nothing in the market. Is not that enough to press hard upon any man's mind, Woodyard." "No," answered the surgeon, bluntly, "not unless he be a fool. You've plenty to meet the demand. You may not be as rich as you have been; but you have chosen to have your dance, and so you must pay the piper. As to the forty-nine thousand pounds, you can get somebody to advance it. If nobody else can be found, I will." "You!" said Mr. Tracy. "You, Woodyard!" cried the General. "Oh, yes--why not?" replied the surgeon; "I'm a poor devil; but I have got something, and I have made a little more by these same speculations which have burnt your fingers, Tracy; only you see I never ventured upon any thing that was not sure--I touched nothing that was not going--I did not sow a field that was not ploughed and harrowed. You have nothing to do, therefore, but to let me know the day, and give me a little bill of sale of your personals and timber to the amount advanced, and the money shall be ready. Come, come!--do not lose heart. You will get somebody to advance the other money wanted; and in the mean time, if I were the General, I would run up to London, and look after these shares and scrip. I do not believe a word of some of them not bringing in money yet." Mr. Tracy pressed his hand for his only reply; but he felt deeply the worthy man's kindness, the more, perhaps, from the blunt way in which it was offered. "There, now, keep yourself quiet, and all will go well," continued Sandy Woodyard, taking up his hat and cane, and bending his steps homeward. But Mr. Tracy could not do what the surgeon directed. What man of lively imagination can ever keep himself quiet when danger is still impending over him? Who but Washington Irving's Dutchman could ever batten down the hatches, and sleep out the storm. Mr. Tracy felt that the storm was not passed yet. The good surgeon had afforded unexpected relief, it is true; but still the enormous sum to be paid within one fortnight, without any preparation for it, rose up to his eyes like the rock of adamant before the ship of Sinbad the sailor; and he asked himself again and again how it was to be raised, where it was to be found. There was no answer. Nevertheless, he assumed a tranquillity which he did not feel; and assuring his brother that he was better, and his mind relieved of its greatest burden, he went in with him to breakfast.