It was that last loan made at the time of Stephen's marriage. While he had supplied the money himself, Stark had acted for him; but during the summer he had been forced to realize on the paper, and the banker had accepted it as security for one of the several loans he had made to him. “I am sorry I troubled you, but I thought you might be able to tell me if there was anything that could be done.” “I'll see him at once!” said Benson; but he was sick at heart with what she had told him. He saw that his misfortunes were extending to her. He hurried back to the town, where he confronted the banker in his private office with a lowering brow. “Ah, Jacob, take a chair,” said Mr. Stark, with a winning smile. “See here,” said Benson abruptly, “I have just seen Mrs. Lan-dray.” “Yes; I understand you go there quite frequently, Jacob,” and the old man laughed slyly. Benson glared at him, speechless and white with rage. “I'm here on business, you'll be pleased to understand!” he said curtly. “Quite as you prefer, Jacob,” and the banker instantly corrected his levity of manner. “Do you recall that when I turned back that mortgage on the Landray farm, you agreed that it was to stand as long as the interest was paid?” “I think you are mistaken, Jacob, the loan was for one year, if my memory serves me.” “That has nothing to do with it—I refer to our conversation; and my understanding was that you would not press the payment as long as the interest was kept up!” “I really don't seem able to recall any conversation to that effect,” said the banker blandly. “You don't?” said Benson with stern repression. “No; but perhaps you made a memorandum of it.” “I didn't, more's the pity, and get your signature while I was about it!” “It was a pity, Jacob. At my age—eighty-one, Jacob—a man's memory is not his strong point, and you know you have a very persuasive manner with you.” “You agreed to wait!” “I can't recall it, Jacob. If I did it's quite slipped my memory. Would you like to examine the mortgage? I have it by me.” “I suppose you intend to buy in the farm,” said Benson scornfully. “Very probably I shall make a bid on it—why shouldn't I, Jacob?” “Mr. Stark, I ask it as a personal favour that you abide by my recollection of our conversation,” said Benson, choking down his rage. “No, Jacob, I shall have to act according to my own memory in the matter. This terrible, wicked war is ruining us all, and the closing of the shops has made so many men idle; why, they have been without work eight months now; I don't know what our merchants will do; it's a calamity for them. And Tom Benson was always such a hard-headed fellow, a really excellent man of business; who could have foreseen he would go as he did!” “When I turned over that mortgage—” began Benson. “Why speak of it again, Jacob? Really the circumstance should be a lesson for us both.” “I want to know what I am to expect?”