"Oh, no!" cried Hazel. "It only means going to a humbler house: and of course Percy and I will set to work to make mamma happy and comfortable." "Of course," said the visitor dryly. "And Percy is growing into a man, and he must take an office and do something in the City; and I must do something too, Mr Geringer--teach music or painting. You will help me, will you not!" "In any way. In every way I will devote myself to your service. You will allow me?" "Indeed I will," she said, placing both her hands in his. "Papa always said you were one of his best friends, and to whom could I look better than to you." "Trust me, Hazel, and you shall never repent it," he cried warmly--so warmly that he saw a half-alarmed look in the young girl's face; but he succeeded in chasing it away by his after-display of tender regret and reverence; and left her comparatively happy and at rest. CHAPTER FOUR. A PROPOSAL. All looked so easy and bright in the future that it seemed harsh on the part of Fate to crush out hope after hope. All appeared so promising when Hazel had discussed her position with Mr Geringer, and then during the next few months bit by bit the morsels of blue sky were blotted out of her horizon, till all above her seemed cold grey cloud, and her life a blank. First then was her mother's health to battle for, and to comfort her when they had to move to furnished lodgings and manage without a servant. "Yes, it will be better," said Edward Geringer to himself with a smile. "Let it work." He had thought the matter out thoroughly--for the family, save for a little consideration displayed by the creditors, were absolutely penniless; and he let them go into lodgings, and waited to be asked for help. The first appeal to him was about Percy, the son; and he responded willingly, advising sensibly and well that the lad should go into some City office and fight his way in the world. Hazel sighed, for she had hoped for more schooling and then a career at college, in spite of her talk of her brother's working. So Percy went into the office of Suthers, Rubley, and Spark, the sugar-brokers, and came home grumbling every night. It was hard to bear, for it upset poor weak Mrs Thorne, who sympathised with her son, and talked of the degradation, and sighed and petted him, calling him her noble boy, inveighing against Fate, and making the lad ten times as discontented with his position as he had been before, and so increased the load on Hazel's shoulders just at a time when she was nearly broken-hearted. For it was unmistakable: Archibald Graves, the true, the sterling, the handsome, the best of men, had been yielding to home-pressure. Old Graves said it was preposterous. The girl was right enough, but he was not going to see his son throw himself away and set up a home with a penniless girl so as to keep her mother and family as well.