“She told me only yesterday that unless I engaged myself to Lord Selwyn—(Dick, Dick, think of it, that old horror! that dreadful, withered-up old creature!)—she said that unless I could bring myself to accept his proposals she would have to try to borrow money from the Jews, and they would charge twenty or thirty per cent. interest. She said we might keep on for another few weeks and then we must go under. “Oh, Dick, if it hadn’t been for you, I must have yielded, for, after all, she is my mother, and I love her dearly! She spoke of the awful scandal, the disgrace, the debts, the angry creditors, her appearance in a public court. Oh, it nearly broke my heart!” “There, don’t cry, my dearest girl,” said Pelham, for Barbara, overcome by her emotions, had laid her head on his shoulder and burst into a passion of tears. “I am all right now,” she said, quickly recovering herself. “It is over, and Dr. Tarbot has done it all. He is our blessing, our good angel.” Pelham was silent. “It happened last night. Mother and I had a long conversation, and at last I told her I would think over matters, and let her know my decision within an hour. I never meant to yield, Dick, so you need not look at me so reproachfully, but it was my only chance to gain time, and just then Dr. Tarbot was announced. “I went out of the room, for I did not want to see him. Little I knew what he had come about, ungrateful girl that I was. He and mother sat together and had a long, long conversation, and I went up to my room. I thought everything was lost. And then at last I heard Dr. Tarbot go. The next instant mother rushed up-stairs, opened my door, came up to me, and clasped me in her arms. “‘Darling, darling, we are saved!’ she cried. “‘What can you mean?’ I answered. “‘It is all Dr. Tarbot’s doing; he has proved our good angel,’ said mother. ‘He will lend me ten thousand pounds within a week from now. Oh, Barbara, he is doing it so handsomely, so splendidly! “‘Barbara child, you ought to marry him. He loves you, he told me how he loved you; he said it was on your account he was doing it. He didn’t press that you should engage yourself to him. On the contrary, he seemed quite hopeless about it. But, Barbara, he is a man in a thousand.’ “‘I am greatly obliged to him,’ I said. ‘I think he is quite splendid; I didn’t know it was in him; but, mother dear, I cannot show my gratitude in that way—I can never marry him.’ “‘My darling, he makes no conditions. He said you were not to be persecuted on his account. I almost think he would have preferred your not knowing that he has behaved so well to me. Now, Barbara, you queer girl, have you nothing to say to me, no secret you are keeping from me? I have rather suspected it for the last few days.’