Once more—it was the afternoon of the day following that evening visit of All Souls’ Rector to the Bank—Isaac Hastings entered the manager’s room to announce a visitor to Mr. George Godolphin. Lord Averil.

George looked up: a startled expression crossing his face. It was instantly suppressed: but, not for his very life could he have helped its appearance in the first moment.

“When did he come to Prior’s Ash?” “I don’t know,” replied Isaac. “I told him I was not sure but you were engaged, sir. I had thought Mr. Arkwright was with you. Lord Averil asked me to come and see: he particularly wishes to see you, he says.”

“I am engaged,” replied George, catching at the excuse as a drowning man catching at a straw. “That is”—taking out his watch—“I have not time now to see him. Tell Lord Averil I am particularly engaged.”

“Very well, sir.”

Isaac went out with the message, and Lord Averil departed, merely saying that he would call again. The reappearance of Charlotte Pain’s husband could not have brought more dire dismay to that lady, than did this reappearance of Lord Averil’s at Prior’s Ash, bring to George Godolphin.

Did he think Lord Averil would never favour Prior’s Ash with his presence again? It is hard to say what foolish thing he thought. Lord Averil had been in town for the last month. Once during that time, he had written to have those deposited deeds sent up to him, about which he had spoken to Mr. George Godolphin. George had answered the letter with some well-framed excuse. But now here was Lord Averil again at Prior’s Ash—and at the Bank! Doubtless once more in quest of his deeds.

George Godolphin put his hand to his weary brow. His ever-constant belief was, that he should get straight in time. In time. To his sanguine temperament, time would prove the panacea for all his ills. If he could only avert present difficulties, time would do the rest. That terrible difficulties were upon him, none knew better than he: but the worst difficulty of all would be this of Lord Averil’s, should exposure come. Short as George was of ready cash—it may seem a paradox to say it of a banker, but so it was—he would have scraped together every shilling from every available corner and parted with it, to have ensured the absence of Lord Averil from Prior’s Ash for an indefinite period.

He pressed his hand upon his weary brow, his brain within working tumultuously. If he must see Lord Averil—and there could be no escape—what should be his plea for the non-production of those deeds? It must be a plausible one. His thoughts were interrupted by a rap at the door.

“Come in,” cried George, in a sadly hopeless tone. Was it Lord Averil again?

It was only a note. A three-cornered miniature thing fastened with a silver wafer. No business communication that. George knew the writing well.

George tore the note into fragments and flung them into the paper- basket. It was ten minutes past three. Glad of any excuse to be out of business and its cares, he hastened things away in his room, and left it. There were moments when George was tempted heartily to wish himself out of it for good, safe in some unapproachable island, too remote from civilization to be visited by the world. But he did not see his way clear to get there.

Look at him as he rides through the town, Charlotte by his side, and the two grooms behind them! Look at his fine bay horse, his gentlemanly figure!—look at his laughing blue eyes, his wavy golden hair, at the gay smiles on his lips as he turns to Charlotte! Can you fancy care an inmate of that man’s breast? Prior’s Ash did not. They were only content to admire and to envy their handsome and most attractive banker, George Godolphin.

They rode by the Bank. It was not often—indeed it was very rarely—that they passed it in their rides. There were plenty of other ways, without choosing that one. George never would have chosen it: perhaps he had the grace to think that his frequent rides with Mrs. Charlotte Pain need not be paraded so conspicuously before the windows of his wife. Charlotte, however, had a will of her own, and sometimes she chose to exercise it.

As good luck had it, or ill luck, or no luck at all, Maria happened to be at the drawing-room window to-day. Some ladies were paying her a visit, and Meta—who was sometimes indulged, as an only child is indulged—made one in the drawing-room. She caught sight of her papa, forthwith climbed upon a chair to see him better, and leaned from the open window, clapping her hands. “Papa! papa!”

Maria sprang to hold her in. She was a child who had little sense of danger. Had George held out his arms then, and said, “Jump out to me, Meta,” she would have taken the leap fearlessly. Maria caught her round the waist, and the visitors came forward to see.

Charlotte threw up a triumphant glance. One of those curiously triumphant glances that she was rather fond of giving Mrs. George Godolphin. Maria bowed gravely. An idea—a faint idea, glancing at no ill—had been growing over her lately that her husband passed more time with Charlotte Pain than was absolutely necessary. George smiled at his wife, lifted his hat to the ladies at her side, and waved a kiss to Meta.

The red blood had mantled to his cheek. At what? At Charlotte’s triumphantly saucy look—which he had not failed to catch—or at his wife’s grave one? Or at the sight of a gentleman who stood on the pavement, saluting them as they passed? It was the Viscount Averil. George saluted again, and rode on with a smooth brow and a face bright as day.

Considerably later; just before five, in fact, when the Bank closed, Lord Averil presented himself at it again. Had Mr. George Godolphin returned? If so, could he see him?

Mr. George had not come in. Mr. Hurde came forward and inquired if it was anything that he could do for his lordship.

Lord Averil had known Mr. Hurde a long while. He had seen him in his place there as long as he had banked with Godolphin, Crosse, and Godolphin. He supposed he was a confidential clerk: and, in point of fact, Mr. Hurde was so to a great extent.

“You hold some bonds of mine,” said Lord Averil. “Bonds of some stock which Sir George Godolphin purchased for me. Did you know anything of it?”

“I remember the transaction quite well, my lord,” replied Mr. Hurde.

“I want the bonds delivered up to me. Can I have them?”

“Certainly. Your lordship can have them whenever you please. They are in your case, in the strong-room.”

“I should have liked them to-day, if possible,” replied Lord Averil.

“There will be no difficulty at all, my lord. Mr. George Godolphin can deliver them to you as soon as he comes in.”

“Will he be in soon, think you?”

“He is sure not to be very long, my lord. I have to see him before I leave.”

“Then I think I’ll wait,” said Lord Averil.

He was shown into the Bank parlour, and left there. At five the clerks quitted the Bank: it was usual for them to do so. Mr. Hurde waited. In about a quarter of an hour George entered.

A few minutes given to the business for which Mr. Hurde had remained, and then he spoke. “Lord Averil is waiting to see you, sir.”

“Lord Averil?” cried George, in a hasty tone. “Waiting now?”

“He is in the parlour, sir. He asked if he could have his bonds given up to him. I said I thought he could, and he replied that he would wait.”

“Then you had no business to say anything of the sort,” burst forth George, in so vehement a tone as to astonish the sober cashier. “It may not be convenient to lay one’s hands upon the bonds at a minute’s notice, Hurde,” he more quietly added, as if he would soothe down or atone for his anger.

“They are in Lord Averil’s box in the strong-room, sir,” said the old clerk, supposing his master must have temporarily forgotten where the said bonds were placed. “Mr. Godolphin was speaking to me about those bonds the other day.”

“What about them?” inquired George, striving to put the question easily.

“It was nothing particular, sir. He was only mentioning their increased value: how they had gone up in the market.”

George said no more. He turned from the office and halted before the door of the parlour. Halted to collect his brains. One hand was on the handle of the door, the other on his brow. Lord Averil rose, and shook hands cordially.

“I have come to bother you again about my bonds, Mr. George. I don’t care to keep that stock, and the present is a most favourable opportunity to sell.”

“They’ll go higher yet,” observed George.

“Will they? They tell me differently in London. The opinion there is, that they will begin to fall.”

“All rubbish,” said George. “A canard got up on the Stock Exchange.” “Well, I have made up my mind to sell,” observed Lord Averil. “I wrote to you from London to send me the shares up; but you did not seem to be in a hurry to do it. So I have come down for them.”

George laughed. “Come down for nothing but the shares? But you will make some stay here?”

“No. I go up again to-morrow. I am not sure whether I shall return here for the summer or not. Some friends of mine are going over to Canada for three or four months. Perhaps I may accompany them.”

George devoutly wished his lordship could be off, there and then; and that the sojourn might last years instead of months. “I wish I had the time to go there!” cried he, aloud: “I’d start to-morrow.”

“Will it be troubling you to give me the bonds, Mr. George?”

George sat a few moments, his head bent as if in thought. “The bonds?” he slowly said. “Your bonds? They were sent—yes, certainly, your bonds were sent to our agents in London.”

“My bonds sent to your agents in London!” repeated Lord Averil, in surprise. “What for?”

George coughed. “Some of our deposited deeds are kept there. Let me see?” he continued, again plunging into thought. “Yes—yours were amongst those that went up, I remember.”

“But why not have told me this before?” asked Lord Averil. “Had you written me word, it would have saved me the journey down.”

“To be sure,” acquiesced George. “To tell you the truth, I never thought much about it, or where they were, until now.”

“Mr. Hurde told me they were here,” said Lord Averil.

“No doubt he thought so. They were here until recently.”

“I shall have my journey back again, then!” cried his lordship. “Will the town bankers give them up to me on my simple demand, or must they have your authority?”

“I will write to them,” responded George.

The viscount rose. Not a shade of suspicion had crossed his mind. But he could not help thinking that he should have made a better man of business than handsome George. “I wish you had told me!” he involuntarily repeated. “But I suppose,” he good-naturedly added, “that my poor bonds are too insignificant to have much place in the thoughts of a man surrounded by hundreds of thousands.”

George laughed. He was walking with Lord Averil to the front door. They stood together when it was reached, the street before them. Lord Averil asked after Mr. Godolphin.

“He seems a little better,” replied George. “Certainly no worse.”

“I am glad to hear it. Very glad indeed. You will not forget to write to town, Mr. George?”

“All right,” replied George Godolphin.