"Of course it would. But then, you see, James never chooses to be questioned: he resents any attempt at it; always did. As a boy, I remember, nothing ever offended him like doubting his word." At that moment there was a ring heard at the house door. The banker looked startled, and then seemed to shrink within himself. "It is that Fosbrook!" he exclaimed. "I thought he'd be coming. I cannot see him. You go, and battle it out with him, Thomas he won't browbeat you. Go! Don't let him come in here for the world." But it was not Mr. Fosbrook. It was only one of the clerks, returning from his errand. Thomas Hill, seeing the state of nervous depression that his master was in, proposed to proceed at once to the Turk's Head, and hold there an interview with the dreaded creditor: and the banker seized upon it eagerly. "Do, do!" he said. "There's no one I dread as I dread him." As the clerk went out, he saw that many angry people lingered yet around the house and doors. He went among them: he begged them to be still for that evening, to leave matters in quiet until the morning, for that Mr. Peter Castlemaine was very ill and quite unable to see anyone. The baffled creditors showered down questions on the unfortunate clerk--who certainly felt the trouble as keenly as did his master. Thomas Hill answered them to the best of his ability: and at length one by one the malcontents took their departure, leaving the street clear and the house quiet. And no sooner was this accomplished, than the banker's handsome barouche drove to the door, containing Miss Castlemaine and her chaperone, Mrs. Webb, who had returned to her post the previous day. Opposite to them sat the young lady's lover, William Blake-Gordon. All were in the highest spirits, talking and laughing as though no such thing as care existed in the world, and utterly unconscious of the trouble that had fallen on the house and the commotion that had reigned outside it. They had, been to look over Raven's Priory, and Mary Ursula was enchanted with it. "You will stay to dinner, William," she said, as he handed her out of the carriage. "Papa will be vexed if you do not." He was only too ready to accept an invitation that would give him a few more hours of her sweet companionship. It was close upon the dinner-hour--six. Stephen was holding the hall-door open, with a long, grave face: they passed him, noticing nothing. "I will not be long, William," she whispered, running up to her chamber. A few minutes later, and she came forth again, attired for the evening. Her dress was of rich blue silk; her cheeks had more colour in them than usual, the effect of pleasurable excitement; her bright hair was disposed so as to set off the exceeding beauty of her face. Mr. Blake-Gordon stood in the gallery, looking at a new picture that some friend had recently made a present of to the banker. As she joined him, he drew her arm within his. "It is a fine painting, Mary."