At this he nearly fainted in the street; and his friend took him back to his office in a deplorable condition. All this time he had been feigning anxiety about the _Proserpine,_ and concealing his real anxiety about the _Shannon._ To do him justice, he lost sight of everything in the world now but Helen. He sent old Penfold in hot haste to Lloyd's, to inquire for news of the ship; and then he sat down sick at heart; and all he could do now was to open her portrait, and gaze at it through eyes blinded with tears. Even a vague rumor, which he hoped might be false, had driven all his commercial maneuvers out of him, and made all other calamities seem small. And so they all are small, compared with the death of the creature we love. While he sat thus, in a stupor of fear and grief, he heard a well-known voice in the outer office; and, next after Burtenshaw's, it was the one that caused him the most apprehension. It was his father's. Wardlaw senior rarely visited the office now; and this was not his hour. So Arthur knew something extraordinary had brought him up to town. And he could not doubt that it was the panic, and that he had been to Morland's, or would go there in course of the day; but, indeed, it was more probable that he had already heard something, and was come to investigate. Wardlaw senior entered the room. "Good-morning, Arthur," said he. "I've got good news for you." Arthur was quite startled by an announcement that accorded so little with his expectations. "Good news--for _me?"_ said he, in a faint, incredulous tone. "Ay, glorious news! Haven't you been anxious about the _Shannon?_ I have; more anxious than I would own." Arthur started up. "The _Shannon!_ God bless you, father." "She lies at anchor in the Mersey," roared the old man, with all a father's pride at bringing such good news. "Why, the Rollestons will be in London at 2:15. See, here is his telegram." At this moment in ran Penfold, to tell them that the _Shannon_ was up at Lloyd's, had anchored off Liverpool last night. There was hearty shaking of hands, and Arthur Wardlaw was the happiest man in London--for a little while. "Got the telegram at Elmtrees, this morning, and came up by the first express," said Wardlaw senior. The telegram was from Sir Edward Rolleston. _"Reached Liverpool last night; will be at Euston, two-fifteen."_ "Not a word from _her!"_ "Oh, there was no time to write; and ladies do not use the telegram." He added slyly, "Perhaps she thought coming in person would do as well, or better, eh!" "But why does he telegraph you instead of me?"