liberty, and the loss of every honorable man's esteem. The web had been
closely and cunningly woven, and now he was fast bound in it, with no
way of escape.

CHAPTER X.

LEAVING RIVERSBOROUGH.

The weeks passed by in Riversborough, and brought no satisfactory
conclusion to the guarded investigations of the police. A close search
made among Acton's private papers produced no discovery. His will was
among them, leaving all he had to leave, which was not much, to Felix,
the son of his friend and employer, Roland Sefton. There was no
memorandum or letter which could throw any light upon the transactions,
or give any clew to what had been done with Mr. Clifford's securities.

Nor was the watch kept over the movements of the family more successful.
The police were certain that no letter was posted by any member of the
household, which could be intended for the missing culprit. Even Phebe
Marlowe's correspondence was subject to their vigilance. But not a trace
could be discovered. He was gone; whether he had fled to America, or
concealed himself nearer home on the Continent, no one could make a
guess.

Mr. Clifford remained in Riversborough, and resumed his position as head
of the firm. He had returned with the intention of doing so, having
heard abroad of the extravagant manner in which his junior partner was
living. The bank, though seriously crippled in its credit and resources,
was in no danger of insolvency, and there seemed no reason why it should
not regain its former prosperity, if only confidence could be restored.
He had reserved to himself the power of taking in another partner, if he
should deem it advisable; and an eligible one presenting himself, in the
person of a Manchester man of known wealth, the deeds of partnership
were drawn up, and the Old Bank was once more set up on a firm basis.

During the time that elapsed while these arrangements were being made,
Felicita was visibly suffering, and failing in health. So sensitive had
she grown to the dread of seeing any one not in the immediate circle of
her household, that it became impossible to her to leave her home. The
clear colorlessness of her face had taken on a transparency and delicacy
which did not lessen its beauty, but added to it an unearthly grace. She
no longer spent hours alone in her desecrated room; it had grown
intolerable to her; but she sat speechless, and almost motionless, in
the oriel window overlooking the garden and the rive