And he foresaw that ere long he must seek some other sphere than that of agriculture in which to make sufficient to satisfy his wants and daily growing greed. One would have imagined that such misfortunes as he had experienced might have allayed his ruling passion for money; yet it did not. The older he grew the more avaricious he became. And to such an extent that he stinted his farm-servants so much that every one left him, and his immediate household affairs were conducted on such miserly principles that he even begrudged his wife the common necessaries of life! His sole and absorbing ambition seemed to be mere “accumulation.” “I am not more dishonest than the rest of people,” he would mutter, as he walked along the country roads and lanes. “There are hundreds who have failed beside myself, and are now in a flourishing business. Why cannot _I_ be the same?” Christianity, its virtues, and its responsibilities, hung very lightly on the shoulders of this old man. He went to church, it is true, and sang and prayed as loudly and lustily as any member of it. It was a “respectable thing” to belong to the church. But it must be confessed that his most fervent prayer was in supplication for the framing of some law which prohibited all imprisonment for debt! Sir Andrew, in his arm-chair, comfortably seated before the fire of his little farm-house, spent hours every evening in devising plans for recommencing business. He was not particular as to _what_ it might be, so that money should result from it. He thought of the banks, and sighed devoutly at the fearful amounts which some were said to possess. He ran through his personal reminiscences, and past life, and could point to persons in high stations, and of “unimpeachable respectability” whom he had known in years past, and often thought, “If so-and-so had his due, he would be half-starving, or in prison, instead of rolling about so grandly with his carriage and greys.” Such thoughts arose, not from honest indignation but from envy and gall. Old Sir Andrew was thoroughly disgusted with himself and the world. He was determined, however, to make another attempt at success. But his son-in-law was like a heavy chain bound to his legs, and he could not move in any direction but he encountered either Fanny or Phillip. And what a change had come over Fanny, his daughter! She had separated from her husband. But why? The cause was this. One night Phillip Redgill had a card party at his house. Among those present, and who lost heavily at play, was Augustus Fumbleton, Esq. Phillip was maddened with wine. The memory of his wickedness and crime came over him. Which ever way he looked he seemed to behold the apparition of his murdered father. The terrible legs seemed to haunt him wherever he went. While cards and dice were at their height, and all were merry, some one loudly knocked at the door. The servant went and opened it. Again the knocks were repeated.