And Martha, half abstracted, looked on it, comparing them with Harry. But there was none like Harry--not one; the heart that clasped its arms about him in his misfortune--the dry eye which watched the night long with schemes for his prosperity--could see none worthy to be placed beside him. Poor Harry! his sister could not see these others, for his continual shadow resting on her heart. When Martha had nearly reached the Exchange, she heard some one calling after her. It was John Buchanan; he came up out of breath. “Will you tell Harry that I think he should come down and see my father, Miss Muir?” gasped John. “I’ve been chasing you for ten minutes--you walk so fast. My father’s come home, and he’s shut up with Dick. I don’t think he’s pleased. If Harry would come down to-morrow, it might be all right again.” CHAPTER XVI. “’Tis the weak who are overbold; your strong man can count upon the might he knoweth; your feeble one, in fancy sets no bound to his bravery, nor thinks it time to fail till there is need of standing.” OLD PLAY. “SEVENTY pounds a-year,” repeated Harry Muir, as his sisters and his wife sat round him, all of them now busy with the “opening,” while Violet kept the baby; “and my uncle might be security, say for three hundred pounds. It’s a mere matter of form, you know. Perhaps they would take him for three hundred instead of five; and Rowan and Thomson is a very good house. I think I might go down to-morrow and inquire.” “It would not do--you must not think of it,” said Martha quickly. “Why must I not think of it? I don’t believe John Buchanan is right, Martha, about his father quarrelling with Dick for sending me away. And, besides, how could I return there, where they all know I was dismissed--_dismissed_, Martha; besides Dick’s own abuse. I could not do it. I would rather do anything than go back;--and seventy pounds a-year!” “Harry, let us rather labour for you night and day.” His face grew red and angry. “Why, Martha? I am not a child surely that I cannot be trusted. What do you mean?” “No,” said Martha bitterly, “you are not a child; you are a full-grown man, with all the endowments a man needs to do something in the world. You can constrain the will of these poor girls, who think of you every hour they live; and you can assert your independence, and be proud, and refuse to bear the reproof you have justly earned. God forgive me if I am too hard; but you wear me out, Harry. When I say you must not seek for a fatal occupation like this, have I not cause? Do I need to descend to particulars? Would you have me enter into detail?” “Martha! Martha!” The trembling hand of Rose was on her arm, anxiously restraining her; and Agnes looked up into the sullen cloud on Harry’s face, whispering, “Do not be angry; she does not mean it, Harry.” “Is it because I am in your power that you taunt me, Martha?” he said, fiercely.