"I'll risk the lofts," cried Lavirotte, "if I were to perish beneath them. You may stick to your old plan if you like, but it is too slow for me. It would kill me. It would drive me mad, when I think of my friends over there, when I think of the approaching ruin which we may avert." Mr. Kempston was a bachelor, easy-going and somewhat indolent, when the first news reached him that Vernon and Son had closed their doors. Hour after hour, and day after day, brought him nothing but a tedious aggravation of the worst reports, and gradually it dawned upon him that now, when he was no longer young, he was a ruined man. Harrington, the father of Dora, and he had been friends in youth. Hence his trusteeship to the will. Hence his guardianship of Dora. He had always been a man of excellent business capacity; but outside his business he was inclined to be lazy, self-indulgent, extravagant. When younger, he was greatly devoted to what is called fun. Now he liked rich living, good company, good clubs, and, if the truth might be told, a great deal more rather high whist than was good for his pocket. He paid the first "call" of the Vernon bank with a groan. "When I have paid the second," he said, "I shall still have my profession--that is," he said bitterly, "if they don't make a bankrupt of me." Then Lavirotte came with his amazing promise of indemnity, and his still more amazing forgiveness. The elderly attorney groaned, smiled, shook his head, swore, thanked Lavirotte profusely, said he'd take the help if it came, grasped Lavirotte by the hand, swore again, gave Lavirotte an excellent luncheon at his club, shook hands and said good-bye to Lavirotte, and then swore mutely the whole way from his club back to his office. When the time for paying the second instalment arrived, he paid it without a murmur, and then swore no more. He had nothing to swear by. Day by day Lionel Crawford and Dominique Lavirotte tore at the earth and clay and stones at the base of St. Prisca's Tower. Day by day they grew nearer and nearer to the goal. Crawford had told Lavirotte what that goal would be like. He knew every stone of that tower from his old readings. They were to keep now to the centre, as near as possible, driving the pick down as far as ever they could. "If it meets anything hard," said the old man, "strike again with the pick a few inches all round, and if it meets anything hard all round, that's it--that's the conical roof of the vault. In that vault the chests have now lain buried more than two hundred years." At last, the accountants who had charge of the affairs of Vernon and Son issued the last call. It was for five hundred pounds per share. Eugene wrote to Lavirotte, and asked him, for God's sake, to be quick.