"That's right! Go and work, my lad. You won't do it merely for the money, but to carry out my poor old friend's wishes. You've got to make that mine a very big success. I've put a lot in it, my boy, so you mustn't let me lose. I mean to take up what Byron calls a good old gentlemanly vice--avarice. Don't be down-hearted, boy. Have another glass of claret, and we'll drink to your success. One of these days I shall come and drink your bride's health. Some true, sweet girl, whom I can call daughter. Ah! you shake your head now, because you have just been to the funeral of your coming hopes. But wait a bit, my boy. The world turns round, and after the winter the summer comes again." Clive Reed sighed, and at that hour, sick and sore at heart, and despairing, as much on account of the woman he loved as upon his own, everything ahead looked black but the prospect of his late father's venture, and over this he now set himself to work; not to make money, for he had plenty, but to dull the gnawing pain always busy at his heart. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THE UNDERCURRENT. "Hah! I nearly had you that time, my fine fellow," said Major Gurdon, as he stood deep in the shade, where twilight was falling fast, and ever and anon he deftly threw a fly with his lissome rod right across to the edge of the black water, where the deep suddenly grew shallow, and a sharp rippling was made by the swiftly flowing stream. "Feel it chilly, my dear?" he said, as he made the brass winch chirrup as he drew out more line. "No, dear," said Dinah, with her pale, troubled face lighting up, as she stood there holding a landing-net. "It is very beautiful and cool and pleasant now." "Ah! that sounds better," said the Major, as he made his fine line whish through the air and sent the fly far away down-stream. "You have been fidgeting me, my dear." "I, papa?" said the girl hurriedly. "Yes. You haven't seemed the same since you had that fall." "Oh, it was nothing much, dear." "But it was a good deal to make you look so white and upset ever since.--Missed him!--Do you know, my dear," continued the Major, making another throw, "I lay awake half last night thinking that I ought to take you up to London to see some clever physician." "Oh, no, no, no," said the girl hurriedly. "You shouldn't fidget about that. I am better. I am, indeed." "Then impossibilities have come to pass, and your little face is deceitful." "You take too much notice of things, dear," said Dinah, shrinking a little behind her father, so as to hide the fresh shade of trouble in her countenance.