The sunshine and the glow faded slowly out of the air, the world fell into shadow, and the heavens changed their sunset glory for the blue transparency of summer twilight. Evening spread wings of soothing calm over the drowsy land, worn out, as a child might be, with its day-long revel in the garish light. The air grew softened and refreshed with falling dews which gathered unnoticed on the leaves and grass blades. The winds were still, and only fire-flies, blinking among the herbage or pursuing aimless flights across the deepening dimness, disturbed the perfect rest.

Along the dusty road came sounds of wheels, the wheels of the Misses Stanleys' home-going guests. The sound spread far and wide across the humid air which sublimated it into something above the common daylight noise, rasping and jarring against stones and gravel, into a rumbling half musical with suggestive echoes reverberating through the stillness.

Out of the gate they came, those vehicles, along the road, around the corner where Bruneau's cottage stood, and down towards the village shrouded in gathering obscurity, with the twinkle of a candle scattered through it here and there in rivalry of the fire-flies in the bushes nearer hand, but far less brilliant. The vehicles rumbled and disappeared, and the echoes of their wheels died out as ripples die on the surface of a stagnant pool; and the road was left alone to night and silence.

But not for long. Two passengers on foot came forward by-and-by, their footsteps audible in the sensitive quiet, while yet themselves were scarce visible in the gloom, and the fumes of their cigars tainting the sweetness of the clover-scented air. It was Considine and Jordan, who had preferred to walk while the rest drove on, and were enjoying their tobacco in the coolness on their leisurely way.

"Fine lad that ward of ours is growing up. Healthy, handsome, and well conditioned, I should say by his looks. Likely to do credit to his good fortune." It was Jordan who spoke.

"To whom do you allude, sir?" answered the other, with the prim formality of print, and of his native land--a formality which continued residence among Her Majesty's more easy-spoken subjects was little likely to relax at his time of life. "I am not aware of any lad to whom I stand in the relation of guardian to a ward."

"I mean Ralph Herkimer's boy, of course. No! You are right enough! He is not our ward in the legal sense. We can have no voice in his education. But, really, if we had, I do not think we could have brought him up better."

"Ha! Ralph's boy? Yes. He seems what we would class as 'good ordinairy,' down my way, in the Cotton States--a shade better than 'fair to middlin'.' He ain't just real peart, I should say, but then he is not a poor man's son, so that is natural. It takes hard work, and hard feed, and not too much of the feed either, to make a lad truly peart. But he seems high-toned, and that's the main point with a young man of his prospects. But I would expect no less from Mrs. Herkimer's son. Ah, sir! She's Noo Hampshire, 'tis true, and I don't hold with Noo Hampshire and its notions; but, sir, she is a high-souled, clear-seeing, honourable and accomplished--lady." Strange--is it not?--how every female American resents being called a woman! and no male American dare apply that most simple and dignified title to the sex. Let us hope that eventually the coloured lady who condescends to do the washing for white women--she calls them so--will succeed in disgusting them with the frippery pretentiousness of the title she usurps, and educate them into adopting the gracious style of their illustrious mother Eve.

"Oh, yes," answered Jordan, "Mrs. Ralph is an excellent person. My wife thinks all the world of her, and I like her too; though, perhaps, as you say, there is a little more New Hampshire than there need have been. Yes! no doubt, young Gerald is most happy in having such a mother. And then his father! Think of him! An extremely good fellow is Ralph Herkimer. So wealthy! Such talent! Must have it, you know--though that kind of cleverness does not show much in society--to make such a fortune. The practical talent which amasses a fortune never does shine in society, though we are ready enough to give it every credit whenever it gives us the chance, which it never does but when it invites us to dinner, and that, somehow, is not often. However, Ralph is indisputably smart, as well as rich, and of course high principled. How could he have made such a fortune otherwise? Our young friend Gerald is most fortunate in his parents as well as in the old uncle."

"Ah! Gerald. Yes. I am with you there. A high-toned, whole-souled gentleman. I knew him well. Had much to do in assisting him to manage his affairs after he came to Canady. Very handsome affairs they were. And I feel proud at having arranged all to his satisfaction, and realized the whole before our unfort'nate unpleasantness, and the depreciation of values in the South."

"Yes, that was most fortunate. The old gentleman had time to make his Canadian investments before his demise, and so saved you and me, friend Considine"--this was an unwonted familiarity in Jordan's reserved manner of speech, betraying a desire to grow intimate, which implied something in his mind requiring a confidential mood for its reception. "Saved you and me from a power of responsibility."

Considine puffed his cigar in silence. If this rapprochement was meant to lead up to something behind, let it do so, he would give it no assistance. He knew of nothing connected with the Herkimer estate requiring confidential talk just then, and his thoughts were disposed to linger on other themes. The soothing air and the fragrance of his weed brought pleasanter fancies to his mind than could spring from the contemplation of a dead man's money. He had spent a pleasant afternoon, in what, to an old bachelor of his retiring habits, was a scene of unwonted gaiety. The low soft hum of women's voices, the rustle of their silks, the garden scents, and a vague impression of gentle sweetness and pretty behaviour, so different from the tone at his hotel and the club smoking-room, where so many of his evenings were spent, hung like a rosy mist over his memory; and he would fain have let it hang, so unaccustomed was it, and so pleasant. There was something, too, like the wave of falling tresses before his eyes, and a sound of pleasant laughter, not loud or much prolonged, as he recalled his talk with Mrs. Ralph, and another talk which followed, in which Miss Matilda was a third at first, and by-and-by sole auditor and interlocutor, which had lasted long and been extremely pleasant.

"Bless my soul!" said this sober elder to himself. "How deuced agreeable I must have been! She really liked it--I could see that--looked interested, no end, when I was explaining to her. And she understood it all at once! Intelligent, very--cultured, too, and well read--one knew that by the neat remark she made about Seringapatam. And a fine woman. What hair! Well-rounded bust, too, and what dainty slippers. Neat ankle--that time it showed when she kicked the puppy from under the tea-table. She looked as if she saw that I admired it when she was drawing it back. She coloured, I think. But not a bit offended--they never are, to see that a fellow appreciates their 'points.' How archly she smiled, too, at my little sally! What was it again? But I made several, now I think of it, and she smiled at them all--not sure, but she laughed. Yes, she did laugh once--laughed right out. I believe she appreciates me! A woman of discernment. Not one to be taken in by a sleek young puppy, fitted out by his tailor and his barber, and nothing inside but his dinner. No, she appreciates a man who knows something of life! Yes, I do believe she really did appreciate me;" and he stroked his chin complacently, blowing his smoke in a long thin tail of satisfaction into the night, and feeling that the world with its cakes and ale was not all over for him yet, as he pushed out his chest and stepped springily forward.

Jordan had received no answer to his last observation. He had more to say, but was waiting for a lead, such as his last remark should have called forth, but no lead came. He gnawed the end of his cigar impatiently; the thread of his discourse was being cut. Worse, it was being allowed to trail idly on the mind and be forgot; like a purposeless gossamer, which no one troubles to catch hold on, and which, though its length has been nicely calculated for the gulf it was meant to span, will never be caught on the further shore, and the ingenious spider who spun it must wait bridgeless and in vain, or else he must begin his labour over again, and try anew. Inwardly fuming, pishing and pshawing under his breath, and gnawing his cigar, the smoke grew turbulent and lost its way among the passages and recesses of his system. It got in his eyes, first, and made them smart, it got into his nostrils and made him snort; finally it made a solid charge backwards for his throat, like a trapped animal struggling to escape. Then at last he threw the vexatious thing away, and stood in the middle of the highway, coughing, gasping and holding his sides, while his eyes ran water, and his companion wondered if anything ought to be done. Considine's day-dream after dark was dissipated utterly, and by the time the other had composed himself he was ready enough to attend to whatever his companion might choose to say.

"Horrid cigar, that," Jordan was at last able to utter, as they resumed their walk. "They will always slip a few bad ones into each box, however good. I wish the confounded tobacconist had had the smoking of that one himself, and coughed his head off, it would have served him right. But let me see--what was it we were talking about? Hm--ha. Ah, yes! Old Herkimer's investments. Most judicious they were. Oh, yes, very much so. Could not have done better--at the time, that is. But times change. Circumstances have altered since '59. This is '73, and no one can see fourteen years ahead."

"The stocks all stand higher to-day than they did then," observed Considine. "Let me see"--and he began to count off on his finger tips--"Banque d'Orval, that's one. A very large block of stock we hold there. That has gone up mightily since the surrender. How it stood in '59 I can't say."

"Oh, yes. It is higher than in '59, of course."

"The Proletarian Loan and Mortgage Co. Don't know a better mark on the share list at present than that. Pike and Steel Money Co.--good--Bank of Progress--would be glad to hold some of its stock myself--Tuscarora Roads--Consolidated Drainage. And--and three or four more which I do not recall at present. As for the Provincial Debentures, and Railroad and Municipal Bonds, we went over them together last time we cut the coupons--could not be better, and I reckon our friend bought them all at a discount. The estate will realize a handsome profit."

"Quite true, General!"--Jordan did not often lubricate his lips with American titles of honour--"just what I observed. Our client could not have acted with a sounder judgment when he made his investments. But it is years since then, and the business world has had its vicissitudes, like other institutions. Now--entre nous, and strictly in confidence--are there no whispers afloat in financial circles? has no--well, no breath--shall I call it? no tone of depreciation come to your ears? No? You surprise me. But to be sure, it is not so very unusual for signs and circumstances to leek out and become known in our profession. Not to be talked about, of course--that would never do. Betray the necessary confidence between lawyer and client? Oh, no! Not for a moment! But we do get to know things at times, while you men of the world are still in the dark, and going forward in the blindest confidence. As to the Banque d'Orval, now. Has nothing transpired to raise the--what shall I call it?--the shadow of a misgiving?"

"Misgiving?--Banque d'Orval?--I believe it stands as strong as the Bank of Commerce of Noo York! Certainly, nairy one! You cannot have looked into its last statement. Reserve of specie, circulation, discounts, all O.K. Never made a better showing since it was chartered."

"I confess I never muddle myself with unnecessary figures. And as to bank statements in general, the only reliable one of their affairs ever issued is the one put out by the assignee when they go into liquidation; and that comes too late to be of much use, except to sue the old directors upon. No, I did not look into the statement. I have always felt that that institution suffered an irreparable injury in the death of Truepenny, the old president."

"The shares are higher now than ever they were in his time."

"No doubt. But what does that prove? Is there any limit to the wrongheadedness and gullability of investors?--I know of none."

"But Pennywise is manager still. Think of his long experience in the bank, and how many years he acted under Truepenny. Pennywise is the most cautious and circumspect bank manager going."

"He is slow enough, if that is what you mean; and that slowness is the foundation of his high repute. It has been worth a fortune to him. You submit your proposal and he lets you talk, and when you have talked yourself into a belief that he will never let so good a thing go past him, he says 'hum,' and coughs--he has always a cough when he ought to speak, and gains time by eating a lozenge. When that is over he clears his voice with a long breath, and promises to submit the matter to his board. Truepenny, now, was gruff, but he was quick, and he did not waste time. He might cut you short in the middle of your story--he always cut Pennywise short when he began to wheeze and ask more questions--but it was because he knew what you were going to say, and he gave you your answer. It was always the best answer for the bank's interest, and generally it was the kindest for the customer. His successor, Sacavent, is rarely to be seen in the bank parlour now, and Pennywise does as he pleases, that is, makes people wait, till his mind is satisfied, and their opportunity is past."

"But the bank's business has not fallen off. The profits are larger than ever this year."

"On paper, at least. But we must wait to test the reality. It takes time to weaken a made reputation. Sacavent, now! Do you think that was a judicious choice?"

"One of our most distinguished merchants--Why, of course!--Rich, popular, doing an immense business of his own. Who can understand the wants of the business community better?"

"That is just it. I fear he understands the wants of the business community too well--knows them from personal experience. What would you say, now, if I were to tell you that his fine house on the mountain was mortgaged up to the gold weather cocks? and that the bank has had to be content with a second mortgage, as collateral, which is just worth the paper it is written on, for the first will cover everything."

"Hm. That sounds serious. Is it really so?"

"I hear so, and more. They tell me his wife, who has her own property--'separÉe des biens,' we call it in our law--has had to give security for a large sum."

"Indeed? But after all it is a big institootion. If Sacavent were to bleed it for all he is worth it would be only a pin-prick to the Banque d'Orval."

"Perhaps; but who can be sure that he is the only blood-sucker on the board? One cannot suppose the others would pass over his overdrafts if they did not get something for themselves. Why, even Pennywise will have to get something to keep him quiet. If it should turn out that there is a whole nest of needy ones, who can tell how far the queer transactions may extend? If anything should leak out--you see something is known, though not to the public--it would raise a panic."

"The Banque d'Orval can stand a run. Look at the specie reserve! It must stand. The government must come to its rescue in case of need."

"No doubt. But think of the shares! If they fall back to par--and it is not so many years since they were only a few per cents above--the present value of an investment would be reduced one-half. And everything else on the share list would be affected by the distrust it would create. Many smaller institutions would go, and all would suffer. It is a serious consideration. There is the Proletarian Loan, now."

"That is sound at any rate. Mortgaged properties cannot be wiped out like the 'rest' in a bank ledger."

"But you must recollect the Proletarian receives deposits. They had quite a flourish in their last statement over the increased amount, and the smaller interest they have to pay on such moneys than on the bonds they issue; which is all very well, but in case of a run by their depositors, how are they to realize the long-time mortgages in which their funds are tied up? They cannot look for much help from the banks, who naturally would not be sorry to see a competitor for the public savings in a tight place. Again, are you perfectly confident that the affairs of the Proletarian would stand a close audit? I confess I have a feeling myself which is not one of security, notwithstanding the high quotations of the shares. It has always been a mystery to me how old Weevil, the managing director, made his fortune. When he went in there he appeared to have nothing but his salary from the company of three thousand dollars. Now the man is undeniably wealthy. Owns blocks of valuable city property, is director in several companies where he must have a large interest, and lives in a style which his salary could not keep up for a couple of months, far less a year--houses for his sons, who, by-the-way, do nothing for themselves, and English schools for his daughters, which a thousand dollars a-piece do not begin to pay for. I would be the very last man to say everything was not as it should be there, but at the same time it is hard to understand."

"Hm! These are new lights to me, friend Jordan. I must take time to comprehend them. Meanwhile what is your own opinion? And have you any suggestion to make as to what we should do?"

"Candidly, then, General--and with all deference in discussing a matter of finance with you, a member of the Stock Exchange, who make the subject your profession--I believe that you financiers have squally times before you. Confidence will be disturbed and quotations will fall. The investments of our late highly valued friend stand now at higher prices than ever before. The full value of the property is vastly greater than when he purchased, and I hate to think of its shrinking back to the sum, insignificant by comparison, which it amounted to when it came under our care."

"But I do not see that we can help that, even if it should occur. It has not occurred as yet. The investments were made by Gerald himself, and if, in the fluctuations of the market, the property becomes less valuable, we are not responsible."

"Not legally, even if morally. Still, we would like to do our best for our worthy friend. For myself, I confess I am proud to be guardian of so handsome a property; and, seeing we are not asked to work gratuitously, it appears to me we should do our best for it."

"All very true; but suppose it should turn out that our investments do not prove profitable--that, after we have sold, the old investments improve--what then? The estate will have suffered a loss, and the heir may hold us to account."

"My dear sir, present prices cannot rise any higher. Take my word for it. How could they? Unless the rate of interest falls materially, how could investors afford to pay higher prices? Consider that, and then discount those circumstances, not generally known, which I have mentioned to you--in confidence--and you cannot but agree with me. Besides, our friend Ralph--he is your friend more than he is mine--is a business man, prompt and off-hand. He knows. He is in big operations every day; and he will not haggle over the odd cents like a habitant farmer."

"But Ralph is not the heir. Gerald hated him, and would have thrown his money into the St. Lawrence sooner than Ralph should get it."

"Quite so. It is Ralph's boy, a fine lad, too. But he will do just as his father thinks best. Any young fellow would be like wax in the hands of so keen a practitioner as friend Ralph."

"I think not. Mrs. Selby's child is the heir. She was to have had the property herself if she had not married against her brother's wish."

"My dear sir, that child is dead. It must be. It is ten years since it disappeared. In spite of every effort and inquiry, nothing has been heard of it since the day it was lost. Ralph's boy is the heir in default of Mrs. Selby's children. Failing the boy, Ralph would inherit from his son."

"I have known so many instances in the South of the long-lost heir turning up when he was least expected, that I never look on any one as dead till I have seen the burial certificate. After a person has been put underground, in the presence of witnesses, I feel that his claims have been quieted, but not before. Twenty years from the date of Mrs. Selby's marriage we will hand over the property to her child; failing a child of hers we will pay it to Ralph's son; and, meanwhile, we need not trouble our heads with questions of heirship."

"True; but we would not fulfil the duty our deceased friend expected of us if we stood idly by while panics and fluctuations of the Stock Market were eating away the value of the property. Man alive! our allowances and commissions in selling out and re-investing would go a long way to make up any loss which could be proved in a court to have arisen from our error in judgment, even if our good intentions did not weigh with the jury to absolve us. That is, supposing the heir should be shabby enough to make such a claim. But the supposition is preposterous. If you sell out that block of stock in the Banque d'Orval and the Proletarian now, your brokerage will be quite a pretty thing--makes a man wish himself a broker to think of it."

"And after the shares were sold, what would you do with the money?"

"Invest in first mortgages on good real property--never to more than half or a third of the value. I can lay my hands on any quantity of such security. It is safe beyond question; for, as you observed a little while ago, the acres cannot run away and I will see to there being the fullest powers of foreclosure and sale; so there can be no possibility of loss."

"I do not understand your Canady laws about real property, and I would be sure to get tripped up in some nicety about titles."

"But I know, General. It is my business."

"Of course you do, and you would feel all safe. But what of me? One man don't exactly like to shoulder a responsibility on the strength of another man's knowledge--see? I would consult you myself, friend Jordan, on my own affairs, and go by what you told me, but somehow that seems different from going it blind in another man's business, and making myself responsible for everything some one else may do."

"But, my dear sir, I am as ignorant of Stock Exchange matters as you can possibly be of the law of real property. Suppose we were to divide the proceeds of stocks sold into two parts; you to invest the one-half in stocks and bonds, and I the other in mortgages, and each to furnish the other with particulars of what he had done. You would make a very pretty sum out of your share of the business, and I don't mean to say that I would not do the same out of the other, only as it is the borrower who pays the law costs, my profits would come mostly out of the public, while yours would come out of the estate, so you cannot but say I am well disposed towards you."

"But if we are to sell out the very strongest stocks on the list in fear of a panic, it would be a foolish thing to buy into the weaker ones at the same time."

"Buy American bonds then. You know all about them. So much of United States bonds, as being strong, and so much in bonds of the better individual States, which can be got at a discount now, and will be about par by the time the heir is to receive them. Quite a pretty transaction for you, I should think, general."

The "general" coughed and hummed, and cleared his voice as if about to speak; but so many different words rushed to his lips at once--words of doubt, words of inquiry, refusal and consent--that he could not frame them into speech.

"Think over it, general," Jordan said as they shook hands at parting, "and let me know as soon as you have made up your mind. Something should be done at once."

Considine thought it would be mortifying if the estate left in his charge should suffer diminution or loss simply on account of his own want of enterprise. Of course there were chances both ways, but was it not his business to make gain out of these chances? And had he not secured for himself a snug little fortune by manipulating them for his own advantage? And should he not risk something to save a friend, an old and deceased friend, who would besides, pay brokerage on all he did for him? Considine valued himself, and I doubt not, justly so, on his "high tone;" but he was human, as we who contemplate his conduct also are--and those brokerages did range themselves in his mind among the considerations for and against disturbing old Gerald's investments, and eventually it was on the side with brokerages that his decision fell; but we are not therefore justified in describing Considine with his "tone" as a specious humbug. He meant well, as so many of us do, only he was happy to combine his own advantage with what he--therefore, perhaps--considered the advantage of his trust.