tors, and secretly engaged in
schemes that promised restitution of the wealth he had expended, or
make his ruin perfect and complete. One adventure after another
failed, cutting the thread of his career shorter every instant, and
rendering him more hot-brained and impatient. He doubled and trebled
his risks, and did the like, as may be guessed, to his anxieties and
failures. He lived in a perpetual fear and danger of discovery; and
discovery now was but another name, for poison--prison--death. Here
was enough, and more than enough, to extinguish every spark of joy in
the bosom of Mr Planner, and to account for his despondency and
settled gloom. And yet Planner, in this, his darkest hour, was nearer
to deliverance and perfect peace, than at any previous period of his
history. Planner was essentially "a lucky dog." Had he fallen from a
house-top, he would have reached _terra firma_ on his feet. Had he
been conducted to the gallows, according to his desserts, the noose
would have slipped, and his life would certainly have been spared.

It happened, that whilst Michael was immersed in the management of his
loans, a hint was forwarded to him of the pranks of his partner; a
letter, written by an anonymous hand, revealed his losses in one
transaction, amounting to many hundred pounds. The news came like a
thunderbolt to Allcraft. It was a death-blow. Iniquitous, unpardonable
as were the acts of his colleague--serious as was the actual sum of
money gone; yet these were as nothing compared with the distressing
fact, that intelligence of the evil work had already gone abroad, was
in circulation, and might at any moment put a violent end to his own
unsteady course. He carried the note to Planner--he thrust it into his
face, and called him to account for his baseness and ingratitude. He
could have struck his friend and partner to the earth, and trod him
there to death, as he confronted and upbraided him.

"Now, sir," roared Allcraft in his fury--"What excuse--what lie have
you at your tongue's end to palliate this? What can justify this? Will
you never be satisfied until you have rendered me the same hopeless,
helpless creature that I found you, when I dragged you from your [Sec.]
beggaring. Answer me!"--

There is nothing like a plaintive retort when your case is utterly
indefensible. Planner looked at the letter, read it--then turned his
eyes mildly and reproachfully upon his accuser.

"Michael Allcraft," he said affectingly,