"I am sure I don't know. What does it matter? Yes, I do know. It was settled months ago that he and Helen should come to me at Elmtrees, so I was the proper person to telegraph. I'll go and meet them at the station; there is plenty of time. But, I say, Arthur, have you seen the papers? Bartley Brothers obliged to wind up. Maple & Cox, of Liverpool, gone; Atlantic trading. Terry & Brown suspended, International credit gone. Old friends, some of these. Hopley & Timms, railway contractors, failed, sir; liabilities, seven hundred thousand pounds and more." "Yes, sir," said Arthur, pompously. "1866 will long be remembered for its revelations of commercial morality." The old gentleman, on this, asked his son, with excusable vanity, whether he had done ill in steering clear of speculation; he then congratulated him on having listened to good advice and stuck to legitimate business. "I must say, Arthur," added be, "your books are models for any trading firm." Arthur winced in secret under this praise, for it occurred to him that in a few days his father would discover those books were all a sham and the accounts a fabrication. However, the unpleasant topic was soon interrupted, and effectually, too; for Michael looked in, with an air of satisfaction on his benevolent countenance, and said, "Gentlemen, such an arrival! Here is Miss Rouse's sweetheart, that she dreamed was drowned." "What is the man to me?" said Arthur peevishly. He did not recognize Wylie under that title. "La, Mr. Arthur! why, he is the mate of the _Proserpine,_" said Penfold. "What! Wylie! Joseph Wylie?" cried Arthur, in a sudden excitement that contrasted strangely with his previous indifference. "What is that?" cried Wardlaw senior; "the _Proserpine;_ show him in at once." Now this caused Arthur Wardlaw considerable anxiety; for obvious reasons he did not want his father and this sailor to exchange a word together. However, that was inevitable now. The door opened; and the bronzed face and sturdy figure of Wylie, clad in a rough pea-jacket, came slouching in. Arthur went hastily to meet him, and gave him an expressive look of warning, even while he welcomed him in cordial accents. "Glad to see you safe home," said Wardlaw senior. "Thank ye, guv'nor," said Wylie. "Had a squeak for it, this time." "Where is your ship?" Wylie shook his head sorrowfully. "Bottom of the Pacific." "Good heavens! What! is she lost?" "That she is, sir. Foundered at sea, twelve hundred miles from the Horn, and more." "And the freight? the gold?" put in Arthur, with well-feigned anxiety. "Not an ounce saved," said Wylie, disconsolately. "A hundred and sixty thousand pounds gone to the bottom." "Good heavens!" "Ye see, sir," said Wylie, "the ship encountered one gale after another, and labored a good deal, first and last; and we all say her seams must have opened; for we never could find the leak that sunk her," and he cast a meaning glance at Arthur Wardlaw.