He was left almost penniless: the banks had collapsed, land and estate was unsaleable. He was at his wits’ end. He seriously contemplated suicide, but after all decided to see the thing out--that is, his own life. He went to Sydney; he kept his head above water; he looked about keenly for a plank of security, and providence--luck--threw him one. Land he had taken with grumbling reluctance as part payment of an ancient debt--land he had never been within five hundred miles of--proved to be a portion of the celebrated Waikatoo gold mines. He was figuratively and literally on the spot at once; his old trade stood to him. He traded, and sold, and realized, keeping a certain number of shares, and then turned his back on greater Britain for ever, intending to enjoy life, and to end his days in Britain the less. Money was his dear and respected friend; he loved it with every fibre of his little shrivelled heart. Ambition was his ruling passion, and rank his idol. To rank he would abase himself, and grovel in the gutter; to rank he intends to be allied before he is much older--if not in his own proper person, he will at least be the father-in-law of a peer. Money for the attainment of this honour was no object; and as his sharp, eager eyes fell on the pretty frightened face that was looking diffidently round the many groups standing on the deck of the steamer, he told himself, with a thrill of ecstasy, “That if that girl in the black hat is Madeline--by Jove! she will do!” CHAPTER XIII. MR. WEST’S WISHES.