"Well, I can hardly say there is. We did not agree in opinion about the winding-up of affairs at that unfortunate time, and I was vexed with Robert Trace; but we parted good friends." "He took too much upon himself, I have heard you say." "Yes. He would carry out his own opinions; would not listen to me, or let me have a voice; and he did it so quickly too. While I was saying such a thing ought to be done in such a manner, he _did_ it, and did it just the reverse. I have always thought that if Robert Trace had managed properly, we might have gone on again and redeemed ourselves. The fact is, his usually cool judgment was stunned out of him by the blow. But it is of no use speculating now on what might have been. How was he getting on when you last heard?" "I don't know." The words were spoken in a peculiarly emphatic tone, and it caused Mr. Loftus to glance inquiringly at Sir Simon. The latter answered the look. "He was at Boston, you know; had got together some sort of an agency there, and was doing well. In one of his letters to me, he said he was in the way to make a fortune. Some capitalists, whom he named, were establishing a great commercial enterprise, a sort of bank I fancy, and had offered the management of it to him, if he could take shares to the amount of two thousand pounds, which must be paid up. He could furnish the one from his own funds, he said, and he asked me to lend him the other. In less than a twelvemonth it should be repaid to me with interest." "And what did you do?" "Lent it. I was willing to give him another help on to fortune; and Trace, as you know, was a longheaded fellow, the very last to be deluded by any trashy bubble not likely to hold water. So I despatched him the thousand pounds by return mail." "You were always too liberal, Simon." "Better be too liberal than too stingy," was the rather impulsive answer. "I should not like to remember on my death-bed that I had refused assistance to friends in need, for the sake of hoarding my gold. What good would it do me then?" "And how did it prosper him?" "I don't know. I got an acknowledgment from him of its receipt—just a line. I believe I can repeat the words, 'Dear Simon, my best thanks to you for what has now come safe to hand. Will write by next mail.' The next mail, however, brought me nothing, nor the next, nor the next. After that came a letter, dated New York; in it he said he had left Boston, and would give me particulars later. They have never come." "That's strange. How do you account for it?"