He got up, slowly. His face was full of despair. I confess that I pitied him. For he gave way altogether to a madness of grief. 'Gone?' he cried. 'No--no--no--not gone--it can't be gone.' He threw himself into a chair and buried his face in his hands. He sobbed: he moaned: when he lifted his head again his features were distorted. 'It is my all,' he cried. 'Oh! you don't know what it is to lose your all. I can never get any more--I am old: I have few clients left--I get no new ones: the old cannot get new clients: my character is not what it was: they cry out after me in the street: they say I lend money at cent. per cent.--why not? They call me old cent. per cent. If I lose this money I am indeed lost.' 'We cannot help you, Mr. Probus.' 'Oh! yes, do what I ask you. Sell your chance. You will never outlive your cousin. You will save my life. Think of saving a man's life. As for your cousin, let him go his own way. I hate him. It is you, you, Mr. William, I have always loved.' 'No.' He turned to Alice and fell on his knees. 'Persuade him, Madam. You are all goodness. Oh! persuade him--think of your child. You can make him rich with a stroke of a pen--think of that. Oh! think of that!' The tears ran down his cheeks. 'Sir, I think only of my husband's father. And of his wishes, which are commands.' 'Enough said'--there was too much said already--'your money is gone, Mr. Probus.' 'Gone?' he repeated, but no longer in terms of entreaty. He was now fallen into the other extreme; he was blind and mad with rage and despair. 'No--no--it's not gone. I will get it out of you. Those who threw you into prison can do worse--worse. You have brought it on yourself. It is your ruin or mine. Once more----' With trembling fingers he held out the paper for me to sign. 'No.' He stayed no longer: he threw out his arms again: it was as if his breath refused to come: and he turned away. He looked like a broken-down man, crawling, bent, with hanging head, along the road. As soon as he was gone, Ramage opened the door and came out cautiously. 'Mr. Will,' he cried. 'For Heaven's sake, sir. For your dear lady's sake: for the child's sake: get out of the way. Nothing else will serve. He is desperate; and he is as cunning as the Devil himself. To get back his money he will shrink from nothing.' 'Indeed, Ramage,' I said, 'I think you are right. I will take a holiday for awhile.' 'When the bankruptcy comes,' he said, 'there will be no more danger, because all the money would be divided among the creditors. Better to run away than to be ruined.' I promised to think of flight. Indeed, my mind was shaken. I was not afraid of open villainy, but of that which might be concealed and designed in secret. It would perhaps be best to go where the man could not find me. So Ramage departed. When he saw me again, it was in a very different place. * * * * *