"Put up the shutters--put up the shutters," muttered Michael, more to himself than to his clerk. "Write _bankrupt_ on the door--write it in large letters--in staring capitals--that the children may read the word, and know why they are taught to curse me. You hear me, Burrage?" "I hear what you say, sir, but I do not understand you. You want rest--you are excited." "I tell you, Burrage, I am quiet--I never was so quiet--never sounder in body and mind. Will you refuse to listen to the truth? Man," he continued, raising his voice and looking the clerk steadily in the face. "I am ruined--a beggar. The bank is at its last gasp. The doors are closed to-night--never to be re-opened." "God forbid, sir!" "Why so?--Would you drive me mad? Am I to have no peace--no rest? Am I to be devoured, eaten away by anxiety and trouble? Have you no human blood--no pity for me? Are you as selfish as the rest?" "Is it possible, sir?" "It is the truth. But speak not of it. I will have your life if you betray me until the event tells its own tale. We close the door to-night, to open it no more. You hear the words. They are very simple words. Why do you stare so, as if you couldn't guess their meaning?" "Oh--I have dreaded this--I have suspected it!" said Burrage, wringing his hands; "but it has always seemed impossible. Poor Mr Allcraft!" "_Poor!_" exclaimed Michael. "Do you begin already? Do you throw it in my teeth so soon? You are in the right, man--go with the stream--taunt me--spit in my face--trample me in the dust!" "Do not speak unkindly to me, master," said the old clerk. "You will break my heart at once if you do. What you have told me is hard enough to bear in one day." Michael took the good fellow's hand, and answered, whilst his lips quivered with grief, "It is--it is enough, old friend. Go your ways. Leave me to myself. I have told you a secret--keep it whilst it remains one. Oh, what a havoc! What devastation! Go, Burrage--go--seal your lips--do not breathe a syllable--go to your work."