"I cannot see that there would be any. Everything's a risk, if you come to that. We are in risk of earthquakes, of a national bankruptcy, of various other calamities: but the risk that would attend the step I suggested to you is really so slight as not to be called a risk. It never can be known: the chances are a hundred thousand to one." "But there remains the one," persisted George. "To let an _exposé_ come would be an act of madness, at the worst look out: but it is madness and double madness when you may so soon succeed to Ashlydyat." "Oblige me by not counting upon that, Verrall," said George. "I hope, ill as my brother appears to be, that he may live yet." "I don't wish to count upon it," returned Mr. Verrall. "It is for you to count upon it, not me. Were I in your place, I should not blind my eyes to the palpable fact. Look here: your object is to get out of this mess?" "You know it is," said George. "Very well. I see but one way for you to do it. The money must be raised, and how is that to be done? Why, by the means I suggest. It will never be known. A little time, and things can be worked round again." "I have been hoping to work things round this long while," said George. "And they grow worse instead of better." "Therefore I say that you should not close your eyes to the prospect of Ashlydyat. Sit down. Be yourself again, and let us talk things over quietly." "You see, Verrall, the risk falls wholly upon me." "And, upon whom the benefit, for which the risk will be incurred?" pointedly returned Mr. Verrall. "It seems to me that I don't get the lion's share of these benefits," was George's remark. "Sit down, I say. Can't you be still? Here, take some more wine. There: now let us talk it over." And talk it over they did, as may be inferred. For it was a full hour afterwards when George came out. He leaped into the cab, which had waited, telling the man that he must drive as if he were going through fire and water. The man did so: and George arrived at the Paddington station just in time to lose his train. CHAPTER VII. BEYOND RECALL. The clerks were at a stand-still in the banking-house of Godolphin, Crosse, and Godolphin. A certain iron safe had to be opened, and the key was not to be found. There were duplicate keys to it; one of them was kept by Mr. Godolphin, the other by Mr. George. Mr. Hurde, the cashier, appealed to Isaac Hastings. "Do you think it has not been left with Mrs. George Godolphin?" "I'll ask her," replied Isaac, getting off his stool. "I don't think it has: or she would have given it to me when she informed me of Mr. George Godolphin's absence." He went into the dining-room: that pleasant room, which it was almost a shame to designate by the name. Maria was listlessly standing against the window-frame, plucking mechanically the fading blossoms of a geranium. She turned her head at the opening of the door, and saw her brother. "Isaac, what time does the first train come in?"