"But in what a glorious cause!" cried Lavirotte, in an excited voice. "The cause of honour, of justice, of reparation. When I have secured my dear friends from the disaster which now threatens them, and when I have paid back the prudent parsimony of this attorney a thousandfold, why should I not die! I shall never do a better thing in all my life, and when a man has done his best he ought to go, lest, peradventure, he live to do his worst, and die in doing it." "And Dora?" The look of exaltation faded from the face of Lavirotte. "And Dora, my darling Dora! My own sweet, trusting girl!" he cried, tenderly. "I do not understand myself; I am two beings; I have two natures. To myself I would be merciless to gain this final glory of assuaging the wrong I have done my friends, and in act forgiving the injury this man Kempston has done to me. But Dora! Dora! Then something else comes in, my other self, my weaker self, my better self, perhaps. Any weakness is better than the tyranny of glory, than the lust of applause." He was silent for a while. The old man had listened to him without a word. "Now, I must go and see that attorney, and show him that I am not the interested adventurer he took me for, and that if a little time ago I was willing to borrow a few paltry pounds, which in a year or two should in any case be my own, I am now willing to throw down thousands for him who never did me personally a service, simply because he was kind and good to the woman whom I love." Lavirotte left the tower. CHAPTER XXX. After the marriage and the going back of Lavirotte to London, all things went on regularly in their old course. Before the return of the bride and bridegroom from their Continental tour, Mr. O'Donnell paid the second call. He had done so with extreme difficulty. It had taken every penny he could lay his hand upon; and, indeed, the way in which he was obliged to draw in money from those who owed it to him threatened to be of serious injury to his business. Still he fought on bravely. The heart of the old man was stirred within him. His dogged nature was aroused to activity such as it had never known, even in his younger days. James O'Donnell was at bay, and he would show the world what James O'Donnell could do when his case seemed desperate. Day and night he worked. His energy appeared inextinguishable. His resources seemed to increase with the demands upon them. His vision was clear, his judgment infallible, his instincts true, his premonitions verified. Rathclare stood still and watched this miracle of new-born strength in the old man. People knew well enough that he had called in his last farthing, and that now, outside the four walls of his business place, he had not a hundred pounds in the world, beyond the book debts, which to claim hastily would be finally to destroy the business.