“No, at once! Without the loss of an hour!” “You be found out,” said the old man bitterly. “You be found out! That’s it!” Clement read an appeal in Josina’s eyes, and he stayed the retort that rose to his lips. “At any rate the money shall be restored,” he said—“at once. I will start for town to-night, and if I can overtake”—he paused, unwilling to utter Arthur’s name—“if I can overtake him before he transfers the stock, the securities shall be returned to you. In that case no harm will be done.” “No harm!” the Squire ejaculated. He raised his hand and let it fall in a gesture of despair. “No harm?” But Clement was determined not to dwell on that side of it. “If I am not able to do that,” he continued, “the proceeds shall be placed in your hands without the delay of an hour. In which case you must let the signature pass—as good, sir.” “Never!” the old man cried, and struck his hand on the table. “But after all it is yours,” Clement argued. “And you must see, sir——” “Never! Never!” the Squire repeated passionately. “You will not say that in cold blood!” Clement rejoined, and from that moment he took a higher tone, as if he felt that, strange as the call was, it lay with him now to guide this unhappy household. “You have not considered, and you must consider, Mr. Griffin,” he continued, “before you do that, what the consequences may be. If you deny your signature, and anyone, the India House or anyone, stands to lose, steps may be taken which may prove—fatal. Fatal, sir! A point may be reached beyond which even your influence, and all you may then be willing to do, may not avail to save your nephew.” The Squire groaned. Clement’s words called up before him and before Josina, not only the thing which Arthur had done, but the position in which he had placed himself. In this room, in this very room in which men of honor—dull and prejudiced, perhaps, but men of honor, and proud of their honor—had lived and moved for generations, he, their descendant, had done this thing. The beams had stood, the house had not fallen on him. But to Josina’s eyes the candles seemed to burn more mournfully, the windows to stare more darkly on the night, the ashes on the hearth to speak of desolation and a house abandoned and fallen. Clement hoped that his appeal had succeeded, but he was disappointed. The old man in his bitterness and unreason was not to be moved—at any rate as yet. He would listen to no arguments, and he suspected those who argued with him. “I’ll never acknowledge it!” he said. “No, I’ll never acknowledge it. I’ll not lie for him, come what may! He has done the thing and disgraced our blood, and what matter who knows it—he has done it! He has made his bed and must lie on it! He went into your bank and learned your tricks, and now you’d have me hush it up! But I won’t, d—n you! I’ll not lie for you, or for him!”