“On the contrary, Mr. de Talor, the interest being now eight months overdue, I have given my London agents orders to foreclose, for I don’t conduct such business myself.” De Talor turned pale. “Foreclose! Good God, Cardus! it is not possible—on such an old friend too!” “Excuse me, it is not only possible, but a fact. Business is business, even where _old friends_ are concerned.” “But if you foreclose, what is to become of me, Cardus?” “That, I imagine, is a matter for your exclusive consideration.” His visitor gasped, and looked like an unfortunate fish suddenly pulled out of the water. “Let us recapitulate the facts. I have at different periods within the last several years lent you sums of money secured on your landed estates at Ceswick’s Ness and the neighbourhood, amounting in all”—referring to a paper—“to one hundred and seventy-six thousand five hundred and thirty-eight pounds ten shillings and fourpence; or, reckoning in the overdue interest, to one hundred and seventy-nine thousand and fifty-two pounds eight shillings. That is so, I think.” “Yes, I suppose so, Cardus.” “There is no supposition about it. The documents prove it.” “Well, Cardus?” “Well, Mr. de Talor; and now, as you cannot pay, I have instructed my London agents to commence an action in Chancery for the sale of the lands, and to buy in the property. It is a most desirable property.” “O Cardus, don’t be rough on me! I am an old man now, and you led me into this speculation.” “Mr. de Talor, I also am an old man; if not very old in years, at least as old as Methuselah in heart.” “I don’t understand it all, Cardus.” “It will give me the greatest pleasure to explain. But to do so I must go back a little. Some ten or twelve years ago, you may remember,” he began, sitting down with his back to the light, which struck full on the wretched De Talor’s face, “that a firm named Rastrick and Codley took out a patent for a new railway-grease, and set up an establishment in Manchester not far from the famous De Talor house, which was established by your father.” “Yes, curse them!” groaned De Talor. Mr. Cardus smiled. “By all means, curse them. But what did this enterprising firm do, Mr. de Talor? They set to work, and sold a grease superior to the article manufactured by your house, at about eighteen per cent. cheaper. But the De Talor house had the ear of the markets, and the contracts with all the leading lines and Continental firms, and for awhile it seemed as though the new house must go to the wall; and if they had not had considerable capital at command, they must have gone to the wall.” “Ah, and where did they get it from? That’s the mystery,” said De Talor.