There was no fault. A sudden depreciation in the value of his stock--a fall which no wisdom could have foreseen or guarded against, was the cause of the misfortune. And the mischief done was small to any but the Woodcocks themselves. There were no tradesmen's bills. The deficiency was small; for Mr. Woodcock had stopped the very hour that he had reason to fear that he was insolvent, and his few creditors were those who had profited largely by their preceding engagements with him. Not an ill word was known to be spoken against him or his; but many a kind and sorrowful one when the family removed from their sunny house near the cathedral, and went, with one servant, into a small "right up," just outside the city; and when the phaeton was laid down, and young Master Edward's pony was sold, and Mrs. Woodcock was seen going to market, dressed as plainly as any Quaker. Hitherto they had never been thought proud. Now people began to think them so--Mrs. Woodcock certainly--and perhaps her husband, too. He grew very grave, and more retired and dignified than formerly. Mrs. Woodcock had always been remarkably clever. But for the high principle and sound judgment which gave moral weight to what she said, her sayings would have been sharp and satirical. Now there was more sharpness and satire, and they showed the more, from her saying less, and carrying herself in a higher manner. Her intimate friends knew that a single mortification lay heavy at her heart, and made her more unhappy than she acknowledged to herself. She was grieving for the blight which had come upon the prospects of her only child--"my Edward," as she was wont to call him--she, from whom tender words were very rare.