Mr. Hillary pressed his daughter’s hand in acknowledgment of so much tenderness and devotion; but he shook his head moodily as he answered her, “Nothing _can_ happen to save me, unless twenty thousand pounds drop from the skies between this and the 10th of January.” Twenty thousand pounds! Maude’s thoughts flew to her jewel-case, in obedience to the most universal of feminine instincts. Twenty thousand pounds! Alas for that birthday gift of opals and diamonds, the turquoise rings and bracelets, the emerald cross, the delicate pink coral, and all the fragile fantastic toys of gold and enamel, bought in the dearest market of elegant West-end dealers, who give three years’ credit. Maude, in all her ignorance, was wise enough to know that these things would not realize one of the twenty thousands required by her father. “But there is Twickenham, papa,” she said; “the Cedars must be worth ever so many thousands.” “And is mortgaged to the full extent of its value,” answered Mr. Hillary. “Find me twenty thousand pounds, if you can, Maude; but don’t worry me with frivolous suggestions. I tell you that it is quite impossible for a woman to understand my position. God help me! I scarcely understand it myself. I only know that everything round me is so much rottenness, and that the crash _must_ come next month.” “But you will not think--of that--again!” urged Maude, pointing to the drawer. “No; I’ll wait to the tenth.” “For _my_ sake; Oh, papa, for my sake!” “No, child; not for your sake, but from a selfish, cowardly clinging to life,” cried Lionel Hillary, with sudden passion. “It would be better for you, ten times better, if I were dead. The thought of that was in my mind as I came down here to-night, until the noise of the engine almost seemed to thump out the words, ‘Better for her, better for her.’ People would have mercy upon you if I were dead, Maude; even those who suffered by me would be less bitter in their reproaches if I were dead. A man can only break his heart once; and when the man is dead, there is no mark for the arrows of justifiable reproach, or the foul garden-stuff and rotten eggs of malicious calumny.” “Papa, the help may come; the twenty thousand pounds may be found.” “No, child; there was only one hope of that, and the hope is gone.” For the first time that night Mr. Hillary looked at his daughter; she saw the look, an anxious scrutiny that sent a chill through her heart. She did not ask him what that one hope had been. “Papa, trust in me, only trust in me!” she cried; “you do not know of what I am capable for your sake--for your sake. You don’t know what I have suffered to-night, and how changed I am by that suffering. Hope for a miracle even, papa: keep things as smooth as you can, and between this and the tenth the twenty thousand pounds may be found. Only tell me one thing. You don’t want anyone to _give_ you the money. If it were lent to you, you could repay it by-and-by?”