go, he had taken it for
granted that there were difficulties of some kind; and men in
difficulties do not keep large balances at their bankers'.

"Well, father," he said, "I am sorry for that. Yes--it certainly makes
the thing rather hard for me. I hoped you might have seen me fairly
launched on my career; and then, you know, if the worst came to the
worst, I could soon have repaid you what you advanced. Well, what I
suggest is this. I can probably borrow the money with your assistance,
and I want to know what security we could offer between us for the
loan."

Mr. Campion looked mournfully at his son, but he was not ready with a
reply.

"You see," said Sydney, "it would never do for me to miss this chance.
Everything depends upon it, and I was bound to refuse Pynsent's offer of
the money. But if you have something that we can lodge as security----"

Mr. Campion shook his head. The look of distress that came upon his face
might have softened Sydney's heart, if he had been less intent on his
object.

"There will be an insurance policy I suppose?"

"No, my boy! The fact is, I was obliged to assign it a few years ago, to
cover a former engagement."

"Dear me!" said Sydney, in a tone of vexation, "what a nuisance! I am
afraid our signatures alone would hardly suffice. A bill of sale is out
of the question, for that would have to be registered."

Something in the old man's appearance, as he sank back in his chair and
wrung his hands, struck Sydney with a sudden conviction. He sprang to
his feet, and came close to his father's side, standing over him in what
looked almost like an attitude of menace.

"Good heaven!" he cried. "Don't tell me that it has gone so far as
that!"

The door opened, and Lettice stood before them, with pale cheeks and
glistening eyes. She had guessed what would come of their conversation,
and had held herself in readiness to intervene.

Sydney turned upon her at once.

"You," he said, as deliberate now as he had been excited a minute
before, "you, with your fine head for business, will doubtless know as
much about this as anybody. Has my father given a bill of sale on his
furniture?"

"He has," said Lettice.

"When?"

"Months ago. I must have known it, for I read all his correspondence;
but I hardly knew what a bill of sale meant. And Sydney," she continued,
laying her hand on his arm, and whispering so that her father should not
hear, "it may be only a threat, but a man was here th