Nothing could help him now but the aid so long looked for. Why had fortune turned against him so persistently when she had once been so lavish with her favors that he had only to try his luck and win. Now it was constant loss until this last venture, which had promised so much and must bring success, or he be ruined with many who had trusted him and looked upon him as a soul of honor and integrity. No one stood higher in Merivale than he did, or would fall lower if he fell. He thought of the mob which had surrounded White’s Bank during the run, and said to himself, “That was a ripple compared to the storm which will beat against me when all is known. Then there was a chance to get something, for it was a run; with me it will be a total failure, with no hope of payment, and so many of them are my personal friends.” He almost knew the list of depositors by heart, but he went over it again, and, strong man that he was, his tears fell like rain as he saw the names of those whose little all, which meant so much hard work, had been trusted to him. Among the names was Louie’s. She had thought it a fine thing to have a bank account, and from the liberal allowance paid to her weekly she had saved and deposited one hundred and fifty dollars, and had nearly tormented his life out with asking where it was invested and what per cent. it was paying him. “Poor little Louie! She shall not lose,” he said, and going again to his safe he took out one hundred and fifty dollars, and putting it in the box with Nancy Sharp’s marked silver, charged it to Louie as withdrawn, and then his work was done and he sat down in his rear office, conscious of a great weakness and throbbing of his heart in his throat, giving him a sensation of smothering. He had felt this before when returning from New York, or waiting for news from that city. But the feeling had never been quite as intense as it was now, nor quite as painful, making him gasp and put his hands to his throat, which felt as if swelling to twice its usual size. The room was dark with the heavy shutters drawn, and the gas extinguished, but the future outlook was darker still, with no ray to lighten it unless it came in the morrow’s mail, or Monday’s. He had reason to expect it on the morrow. “And it will come; it must,” he said, his natural hopefulness beginning to assert itself. “To-morrow will put things right, and then, as I hope for heaven, I’ll do business on the square. I’m not naturally a bad man, nor a dishonest one. It is this infernal disease born in me, which has mastered me.”