ting frequently--very
frequently--and comparing with his watch, as if he doubted its veracity.
This was very unreasonable, for he always found that the two timepieces
told the truth; at least, that they agreed with each other.
Nevertheless, in his own private heart, Ned Hooper thought that clock--
and sometimes called it--"the slowest piece of ancient furniture he had
ever seen."

During one of Ned's comparisons of the two timepieces the door opened,
and Mr Auberly entered, with a dark cloud, figuratively speaking, on
his brow.

At the same moment the door of an inner office opened, and Mr Auberly's
head clerk, who had seen his employer's approach through the dusty
window, issued forth and bowed respectfully, with a touch of condolence
in his air, as he referred with much regret to the fire at Beverly
Square, and hoped that Miss Auberly was not much the worse of her late
alarm.

"Well, she is not the better for it," said Mr Auberly; "but I hope she
will be quite well soon. Indeed, the doctor assures me of this, if care
is taken of her. I wish that was the only thing on my mind just now;
but I am perplexed about another matter, Mr Quill. Are you alone?"

"Quite alone, sir," said Quill, throwing open the door of the inner
office.

"I want to consult with you about Frederick," said Mr Auberly as he
entered.

The door shut out the remainder of the consultation at this point, so
Edward Hooper consulted the clock again and sighed.

If sighs could have delivered Hooper from his sorrows, there is no doubt
that the accumulated millions of which he was delivered in that office,
during the last five years, would have filled him with a species of
semi-celestial bliss.

At last, the hands of the clock reached the hour, _the_ hour that was
wont to evoke Ned's last sigh and set him free; but it was an
aggravating clock. Nothing would persuade it to hurry. It would not,
for all the untold wealth contained in the great stores of Tooley
Street, have abated the very last second of the last minute of the hour.
On the contrary, it went through that second quite as slowly as all the
others. Ned fancied it went much slower at that one on purpose; and
then, with a sneaking parade of its intention to begin to strike, it
gave a prolonged hiss, and did its duty, and nothing _but_ its duty; by
striking the hour at a pace so slow, that it recalled forcibly to Ned
Hooper's imaginative mind, "the minute-gun at sea."

There was a pr