"The Bank is all right," said George. "I cannot imagine how such a report could by any possibility have arisen," he continued, quitting the one point for the other. "There is no foundation for it." George Godolphin spoke in all good faith when he said he could not tell how the report could have arisen. He really could not. Nothing had transpired at Prior's Ash to give rise to it. Possibly he deemed, in his sanguine temperament, that he spoke in equally good faith, when assuring Mr. Hastings that the Bank was all right: he may have believed that it would so continue. "The money is safe, then?" "Perfectly safe." "Otherwise, you must let me have it out now. Were it to be lost, it would be ruin to me, ruin to the little Chisholms." "But it is safe," returned George, all the more emphatically, because it would have been remarkably inconvenient, for special reasons, to refund it then to Mr. Hastings. I repeat, that he may have thought it _was_ safe: safe in so far as that the Bank would get along somehow, and could repay it sometime. Meanwhile, the use of it was convenient--how convenient, none knew, except George. "A packet of deeds has been mislaid; or is missing in some way," resumed George. "They belong to Lord Averil. It must be some version of that which has got abroad--if anything has got abroad." "Ay," nodded Mr. Hastings. The opinion coincided precisely with what he had expressed to the agent. "I know of nothing else wrong with the Bank," spoke George. "Were you to ask my brother, I am sure he would tell you that business was never more flourishing. I wish to goodness people could be compelled to concern themselves with their own affairs instead of inventing falsehoods for their friends!" Mr. Hastings rose. "Your assurance is sufficient, Mr. George: I do not require your brother's word to confirm it. I have asked it of you in all good faith, Maria being the link between us." "To be sure," replied George; and he shook Mr. Hastings's hand as he went out. George remained alone, biting the end of his quill pen. To hear that any such rumour was abroad vexed and annoyed him beyond measure. He only hoped that it would not spread far. Some wiseacre must have picked up an inkling about the deeds, and converted it into a doubt upon the Bank's solvency. "I wish I could hang the fools!" muttered George. His wish was interrupted. Some one came in and said that Mr. Barnaby desired to see him. "Let him come in," said George. Mr. Barnaby came in. A simple-looking man of quiet manners, a corn-dealer, who kept an account at the Bank. He had a canvas bag in his hand. George asked him to take a seat. "I was going to pay in two thousand pounds, sir," said he, slightly lifting the bag to indicate that the money was there. "But I should like, first of all, to be assured that it's all right."