riends and acquaintances, in the same set,
nodded solemnly, and uttered a few words of well-bred condolence. The
mourners were up-stairs. The few coaches were filled with men, a little
group stood around the open grave, and David Lawrence passed out of
mortal sight,--his life-work all done. Had the toil been worth the
reward?

The next day Eastman left for New York, and his stay there was brief. He
knew what would be surmised after much trouble and searching, but it
could not be positively laid at his door. And with a cheerful heart he
set out to seek a new fortune.

To the great surprise of Mr. and Mrs. Minor, they found Hope Terrace
mortgaged. Mrs. Lawrence could talk of nothing, could not endure the
confusion of voices in her room. Some trustees were appointed to
investigate the whole affair, for Fred was as ignorant as a child of all
pertaining to the mill.

The examination disclosed a pitiable state of affairs. George Eastman
had built up Yerbury on borrowed capital, lived on it in luxury,
speculated, lost and won like any other gaming. He had persuaded each
individual that he was on the high road to wealth. There had been a
peculiar fascination about the man; or is it that the appeal to greed
and covetousness is so much more convincing than that to honor and
truth, that the baser impulses are quicker with their response? It was a
great bubble upon credit, and carried with it the seeds of
self-destruction. True, the bank held mortgages on rows of flimsy-built
houses where walls were cracking apart, foundations settling, plumbing
in such a condition that it was a hotbed of disease. They would not
cover the indebtedness. The available cash had been drawn out by large
depositors, the best bonds and stocks surreptitiously sold. And with all
this there was a defalcation traceable to Hope Mills or the Eastmans.
The money had gone in that direction. On the other hand, it was proven
by the income of Hope Mills, and the amount paid out for labor, that
there was no reason why they should not be solvent to-day.

Lavishly as the Lawrences had spent money, they had not taken it all. No
one could or did accuse David Lawrence of private speculation. Minor had
once tried his best to induce him to join in some enterprises, but
failed. It was an easy matter to blame the Eastmans for every thing:
they were away, and could not deny the charge. But had all these
bank-officials clean hands? They had been given a sacred trust, the
s