"Yes," said Morton firmly. "I've got an order to see him, and I'm going at once." He turned round sharply, for he had received a hearty clap on the shoulder, and found that Barclay had approached him unperceived; and he now took the young fellow's hand and shook it warmly. "Good lad!" he exclaimed. "That's brave. Go and see him; and if you like you may tell him that Mr Linnell and I have got the best lawyer in London to defend him." "You have, Mr Barclay?" "Yes; we have. There, don't stare at me like that. Your father once did me a good turn; and do you suppose a money-lender has no bowels? You tell him--no, don't tell him. He is in a queer, obstinate way just now, and you've got your work cut out to tell him about your brother's trouble. That's enough for one day, but you may give him a bit of comfort about your sisters. You can tell him that my stupid, obstinate old wife has got 'em in hand, and that as long as there's a roof over Mrs Barclay's head, and anything to eat, Miss Denville will share them. No, no; don't shake hands with me. I've nothing to do with it. It's all her doing." Morton could not speak, but gripped the money-lender's hand tightly before turning to Mrs Barclay. He held out his hand and took hers, his lips trembling as he gazed in the plump, motherly face. Then, with something like a sob of a very unmanly nature, he threw his arms round her and kissed her twice. "God bless you!" he cried; and he turned and ran out of the room. Barclay's face puckered up as his wife sank down in a chair sobbing, with her handkerchief to her eyes, and rocking herself to and fro, but only to start up in alarm as Barclay dashed to the fireplace, and caught up the poker, before running towards the door. "Jo-si-ah!" she cried, catching his arm. "Just got away in time, a scoundrel--and before my very face! You suffered it, too, madam." "Oh--oh--oh--oh!" sobbed Mrs Barclay hysterically, as she took the poker away, and replaced it in the fender before throwing herself on her husband's breast. "My own dear old man! I won't ever say a word again about money. The best and dearest fellow that ever lived!" Barclay drew her close to him and played the elderly lover very pleasantly and well, leading his plump wife to a sofa, and sitting down by her with her head resting upon his shoulder. "Hush, old lady, don't cry so," he whispered. "What's the good of having money if you don't try and do some good with it? I like little Claire; she's about as near an angel as we find them in Saltinville; and as for poor old Denville, he has been the most unlucky of men. He's not a bad fellow at heart, and as for that affair about old Lady Teigne-- well, there's no knowing what a man may do when tempted by poverty and with a lot of jewels twinkling before his eyes." "Oh, hush, Jo-si-ah, you don't think--you can't think--" "Hush, old girl! we must not think it of him aloud. We must get him off, but I'm very much afraid."