Peter Castlemaine opened it. A change, that the faithful old clerk did not like to see, was in his face. Hill's own face was scared and white enough just then, as he well knew; but it could not wear the peculiar, sickly, shrunken look he saw on his master's. "Where are they, Thomas? Is it really a run?" "Really and truly, sir. What an unfortunate circumstance! A few days, and you would have tided it over." "But where are they all?" "Outside, sir, in the street, kicking and thumping at the doors and windows; a great crowd of them by this time, and growing a bigger one every minute. We managed to get the doors shut as tie clock struck, and then put down the shutters." Mr. Castlemaine drew his hand across his aching brow. "I think this must have been caused by Fosbrook," he remarked. "He may have let an incautious word drop." "He'd not do it, sir." "Not intentionally: for his own sake. I knew it boded no good when I found he meant to stay on at the Turk's Head. Alas! Alas!" "There has not been a regular stoppage," said Thomas Hill. "And if we can manage to get assistance, and open again to-morrow morning----" "Don't, Hill," interrupted the banker, in a tone of painful wailing. "Don't speak of hope! There's no hope left." "But, sir, when the remittance, which we expect, comes----" "Hush! look here." Mr. Peter Castlemaine pushed an open letter towards his clerk. The old man's hands trembled as he held it; his face grew whiter as he mastered the contents. Hope was indeed gone. The worst had come. An embargo, or lien, had been laid in London upon the expected remittances. "Did you get this letter this morning, sir? Why did you not tell me? It would have been better to have stopped then." "I got it ten minutes ago, Thomas. It was sent from town by a special messenger in a post-chaise and four which, of course, the estate will be charged with. He came, by mistake, I suppose, to the private door; or perhaps he saw the crowd round the public one: and he gave the letter into my own hands, saying he would take my instructions back to town to-morrow morning, if I had any. All's over." Too truly did Thomas Hill feel the force of the words. All was over. But for this last great misfortune, this lien upon the money that ought to have come, they might have weathered the storm. The few past days had gone on pretty quietly; and every day, passed without exposure, was so much gained. The Master of Greylands, when applied to by his brother for a loan, had listened, and placed at the bank's disposal a fairly good sum: not enough, not half enough, for what it was wanted to stop, but still a great help. "Even now," began Thomas Hill, breaking the depressing silence, "even now, sir, if a meeting were called, and a statement of facts properly laid before the creditors, they might consent to allow time.