f his wife's money as his capital, he
was admitted as a partner in the firm that employed him. He was a man
of excellent abilities, and in time he acquired a handsome property.

Fitz never amounted to much. His ideas were too big for his station. He
obtained several situations; but, as he aspired to manage his
employers' business without their aid, he was often out of a place.
When his father went into business, he was taken as an entry-clerk; but
he was such a trial that even parental solicitude could not tolerate
him, and he was sent away. He was not a bad boy; but self-conceit was
the rock on which he wrecked himself. He found another situation, and
another, and another; but his stay in each was short. And so he went
from one place to another, achieving nothing, until he was twenty-five
years old, when he married a lady ten years his senior, whom even the
twenty thousand dollars she possessed did not tempt any one else to
make a wife. Fitz is a gentleman now; and though his lot at home is
trying, he still maintains his dignity, and lives on his wife's
property. He is not dissipated, and has no bad habits; but he does not
amount to anything. People laugh at him, and speak contemptuously of
him behind his back; and he is, and will continue to be, nothing but a
cipher in the community.

In the little smoking-room in the house in Pemberton Square, three
years after Maggie went to live there, on the very sofa where Andre
Maggimore had lain, was stretched the inanimate form of another person,
stricken down by the same malady. It was Mr. Checkynshaw. The two
gentlemen with whom he had been conversing when attacked by the fit had
placed him there, and Dr. Fisher had been sent for. From that sofa he
was conveyed to his bed, still insensible. His eyes were open, but he
knew none of those who stood by his couch.

The doctor came; but the banker was out of the reach of human aid,
though he survived a day and a half. Maggie watched over him, as she
had over Andre; but vain was her care, and vain were her hopes. Her
father died. A few days later a long funeral procession left the house,
and Mr. Checkynshaw was borne to his last resting-place at Mount
Auburn. Mrs. Checkynshaw was bewildered and overwhelmed; Elinora was so
nervous that she required an attendant constantly; and Maggie had
little time to weep herself, so devoted was she to the wants of others.

By the death of her father, everything was changed with Maggie. There