“Of course I went at once and told Dick Buchanan. His father is not at home, and Dick took it upon him to reprove me for carelessness, and--various other things,” said Harry, with assumed bravado. “So we got to high words--I confess it, Martha. I was not inclined to submit to that from him, which I could scarcely bear from you. And the result was what I have told you--I gave up my situation, or rather he dismissed me.” There was a dead silence, for Martha’s composure hushed the condolences which otherwise would have comforted poor Harry, and made him feel himself a martyr after all. “What did young Buchanan blame you for?--not,” said Martha, a rapid flush covering her face as she looked at her brother, “not with any suspicion--not for _this_.” He returned her look with one of honest and unfeigned indignation. “Martha!” “I did not know,” said Martha hurriedly. “The lad is a coarse lad. I did not know what you meant. What did he blame you for, Harry?” A guilty flush stole over Harry’s face. He sighed deeply. “For many things, Martha,” he said with simplicity, “for which you have blamed me often.” The stern questioner was melted. It was some time before she could resume her inquiries. “And how did it happen? How did you lose the money, Harry?” said Rose. “It was no such wonder,” answered Harry with a little impatience. “It is a thing that happens every day--at least many men have been robbed before me. They lie in wait about the banks, these fellows.” “And what way did you put it into your pocket, Harry?” said Violet. “I would have held it in my hand.” “Be quiet, Violet; what do you know about it?” exclaimed Harry angrily. “And was it near the Bank you were robbed?” inquired Agnes. Harry faltered a little. “Not very far from it.” “And did nobody see the thief? Surely if it was done in the open street, somebody must have seen who did it,” said Rose. Harry’s eyes were cast down. “No,” he muttered in a very low tone, “they know their business too well to let anybody see them.” “Was it done in the street?” asked Martha quickly. He faltered still more. “I don’t know--not exactly in the street, I think. I met the captain of one of our--of one of Buchanan’s ships; and I--I went with him to a place he was going to call at. I suppose it might be done about there.” Poor Harry! his head was bowed down--his fingers were fumbling with the table-cover. He could not meet the eyes which were fixed so anxiously upon him. A low groan came from Martha’s lips--it was hard to relinquish the comfort of believing that his besetting sin had no share in this misfortune--hard to have the courage quenched out of a heart, which could be buoyant, joyous, in the face of trials and dangers appointed by heaven, to be suffered and overcome--but who could do nothing against a weakness so inveterate and strong as this.