portunity of contributing towards the regeneration of those poor souls
whom Providence has placed in a lower sphere than myself."

"Girdlestone," said the member of Parliament with emotion, as he
pocketed the cheque, "you are a good man. I shall not forget this, my
friend; I shall never forget it."

"Wealth has its duties, and charity is among them," Girdlestone
answered with unction, shaking the philanthropist's extended hand.
"Good-bye, my dear sir. Pray let me know if our efforts are attended
with any success. Should more money be needed, you know one who may be
relied on."

There was a sardonic smile upon the hard face of the senior partner as
he closed the door behind his visitor. "It's a legitimate investment,"
he muttered to himself as he resumed his seat. "What with his
Parliamentary interest and his financial power, it's a very legitimate
investment. It looks well on the list, too, and inspires confidence.
I think the money is well spent."

Ezra had bowed politely as the great man passed through the office, and
Gilray, the wizened senior clerk, opened the outer door. Jefferson
Edwards turned as he passed him and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Lucky fellow," he said in his jerky way. "Good employer--model to
follow--great man. Watch him, mark him, imitate him--that's the way to
get on. Can't go wrong," and he trotted down the street in search of
fresh contributions towards his latest fad.

CHAPTER III.

THOMAS GILRAY MAKES AN INVESTMENT.

The shambling little clerk was still standing at the door watching the
retreating figure of the millionaire, and mentally splicing together his
fragmentary remarks into a symmetrical piece of advice which might be
carried home and digested at leisure, when his attention was attracted
to a pale-faced woman, with a child in her arms, who was hanging about
the entrance. She looked up at the clerk in a wistful way, as if
anxious to address him and yet afraid to do so. Then noting, perhaps,
some gleam of kindness in his yellow wrinkled face, she came across to
him.

"D'ye think I could see Muster Girdlestone, sir," she asked, with a
curtsey; "or, maybe, you're Mr. Girdlestone yourself?" The woman was
wretchedly dressed, and her eyelids were swollen and red as from long
crying.

"Mr. Girdlestone is in his room," said the head clerk kindly. "I have
no doubt that he will see you if you will wait for a moment." Had he
been speaking to the grandest of