Most men will talk more freely to a woman whom they trust than to any man, no matter how near to them by ties of nature or affection. Henry Grey was no exception to the rule, and when he found he durst no longer confide important secrets to his wife, he unburdened himself to another woman, a widow, now past seventy, but still straight and intelligent, and sympathetic and hale, a woman who had won and retained a most powerful hold upon his esteem, affection, and confidence--his mother. Whilst all the world of Daneford was calculating the enormous fortune the Daneford Bank must be making for its owner, and was bemoaning the fact that Wat Grey had no child to leave his fine business and his vast savings to, there were two people the nature of whose anxiety about Mr. Grey's affairs did not take the same course. These two people were the only beings possessing knowledge of the condition of Mr. Grey's private fortune and the bank. For years he had kept the true state of affairs from his mother, but at length, as blow succeeded blow, he could no longer bear the burden of his secret, and he unfolded it to her. He did not trouble her with detail, but informed her briefly that he had backed the South in the American wars--that not only had he lost all his own private fortune, but of the depositors' money as well. At first she was overwhelmed with surprise and horror to think the splendid business and reputation made for the Bank by her dead husband and his father before him should be ruined by her son, and that not only had the Bank been ruined and her son's fortune and position destroyed, but the moneys of the clients had also been included in the horrible disaster. But, despite her seventy years, she was a brave old lady, full of honour and spirits and courage. Once the first shock was over, she set all her faculties at work to try and sustain the drooping energies of her only son. She know he was not free from troubles at home; she knew he gave none of his business confidences to his wife. Though she deplored these facts, she felt there was no help for them; and if at first reluctant to assist him in councils which ought to be held between him and his wife, in the end she saw it would be the wisest course for her to listen, to encourage him to speak, and to aid him with any advice she might think it wise to give. Apparently, however, the affairs of the Bank were beyond the aid of advice. At every interview between mother and son he assured her he saw no opening in the clouds; that, in fact, they got blacker and blacker as time wore on. Towards the beginning of 1866 things had, the son told the mother, come to the worst. "All is lost," he said; "all is lost. I have been staving off and staving off until everything has got into a hopeless tangle, out of which I can find but one thing--ruin!" "Then, Henry, I suppose you must shut the door; and as you see nothing else for it, the sooner you stop up the better."