A loud, single knock at the library door at this moment made his heart leap into his mouth, and nearly caused him to scream with fright, but that his voice forsook him. Before he could recover sufficiently to accord permission to enter, Nathan Gomer walked into the room. Pale and haggard, Mr. Grahame regarded him with any other feeling than that of complacency. Nathan Gomer held mortgages on his property, and had advanced money on a bond; the day of payment named in it was fast approaching. He had also promised, upon certain security, to furnish additional funds. Mr. Grahame could only look upon him with the eyes of one deeply indebted to him; he believed that he would realise some portion of the sums he had loaned, but he knew that if fate proved adverse to him, Nathan would lose largely as well. He both hated and feared him, and he viewed his presence now with distrust. He anticipated that he was the harbinger of bad news: everything had gone so wrong of late, there was nothing else to expect. Nathan Gomer turned up his shining yellow visage, and grinned. How Grahame loathed that grin!--it seemed to betoken only mischief. He motioned to Nathan to take a chair, and, in a husky voice, begged to be informed what fortunate circumstance it was to which he was indebted for the felicity his presence thus unannounced, afforded him. “A matter I apprehend of no small importance to you, Mr. Grahame,” replied Nathan. Mr. Grahame gulped. No doubt it was of importance to him; he expected that--most painful importance. What else could it be. “I think I am prepared,” he said, “for anything you may have to communicate to me, whatever distressing features it may possess.” “I think not,” said Nathan. “Hearken: you have a new neighbour next door to you;” he pointed as he spoke, and asked--“Do you know his name?” Mr. Grahame looked at him with some surprise. What did such a question portend? Nathan only grinned, and Mr. Grahame answered coldly-- “I am not accustomed to take any notice of my neighbours, or trouble myself to make inquiries respecting them.” “You would have been interested if you had, in the present instance.” “Indeed!” ejaculated Grahame, a curl turning his lip. “Ay! His name is Wilton--Eustace Wilton--ah, you are interested now.” Mr. Grahame clutched Nathan by the arm. “What?” he shouted, “the wretched man dying inch by inch in his poverty--a day or so back in the Queen’s Prison, and now”---- “Your next door neighbour, with an income of five thousand a-year, and cash to the tune of sixty thousand pounds.” replied Nathan Gomer, with forcible emphasis. “Impossible!” groaned Grahame. “Fact!” ejaculated Gomer. “By what magic has it been accomplished?” inquired Grahame, apparently stupefied by what he heard. “No magic at all,” returned Nathan Gomer, grinning. “A simple process of law. Years ago a near relative, named Eglinton, a connection of your own, gave to him an estate”----