"Good heavens! are you the lady?"

She held up her hand in satirical protest.

"Gently, sir! You suspected me just now of wasting your valuable time. Don"t rashly conclude that I am the lady until you find that I am acquainted with the circ.u.mstances."

"Is there no excuse for my failing to recognise you?" Mr. Lismore asked. "We were on the dark side of the burning house; you were fainting, and I--"

"And you," she interposed, "after saving me at the risk of your own life, turned a deaf ear to my poor husband"s entreaties when he asked you to wait till I had recovered my senses."

"Your poor husband? Surely, Mrs. Callender, he received no serious injury from the fire?"

"The firemen rescued him under circ.u.mstances of peril," she answered, "and at his great age he sank under the shock. I have lost the kindest and best of men. Do you remember how you parted from him--burned and bruised in saving me? He liked to talk of it in his last illness. "At least," he said to you, "tell me the name of the man who preserved my wife from a dreadful death." You threw your card to him out of the carriage window, and away you went at a gallop to catch your train. In all the years that have pa.s.sed I have kept that card, and have vainly inquired for my brave sea-captain. Yesterday I saw your name on the list of speakers at the Mansion House. Need I say that I attended the meeting? Need I tell you now why I come here and interrupt you in business hours?"

She held out her hand. Mr. Lismore took it in silence, and pressed it warmly.

"You have not done with me yet," she resumed, with a smile. "Do you remember what I said of my errand when I first came in?"

"You said it was an errand of grat.i.tude."

"Something more than the grat.i.tude which only says "thank you,""

she added. "Before I explain myself, however, I want to know what you have been doing, and how it was that my inquiries failed to trace you after that terrible night." The appearance of depression which Mrs. Callender had noticed at the public meeting showed itself again in Mr. Lismore"s face. He sighed as he answered her.

"My story has one merit," he said: "it is soon told. I cannot wonder that you failed to discover me. In the first place, I was not captain of my ship at that time; I was only mate. In the second place, I inherited some money, and ceased to lead a sailor"s life, in less than a year from the night of the fire. You will now understand what obstacles were in the way of your tracing me. With my little capital I started successfully in business as a ship-owner.

At the time I naturally congratulated myself on my own good fortune.

We little know, Mrs. Callender, what the future has in store for us."

He stopped. His handsome features hardened, as if he were suffering (and concealing) pain. Before it was possible to speak to him there was a knock at the door. Another visitor without an appointment had called; the clerk appeared again with a card and a message.

"The gentleman begs you will see him, sir. He has something to tell you which is too important to be delayed."

Hearing the message, Mrs. Callender rose immediately.

"It is enough for to-day that we understand each other," she said.

"Have you any engagement to-morrow after the hours of business?"

"None."

She pointed to her card on the writing-table. "Will you come to me to-morrow evening at that address? I am like the gentleman who has just called: I too have my reason for wishing to see you."

He gladly accepted the invitation. Mrs. Callender stopped him as he opened the door for her.

"Shall I offend you," she said, "if I ask a strange question before I go? I have a better motive, mind, than mere curiosity. Are you married?"

"No."

"Forgive me again," she resumed. "At my age you cannot possibly misunderstand me; and yet--"

She hesitated. Mr. Lismore tried to give her confidence. "Pray don"t stand on ceremony, Mrs. Callender. Nothing that _you_ can ask me need be prefaced by an apology."

Thus encouraged, she ventured to proceed. "You may be engaged to be married?" she suggested. "Or you may be in love?"

He found it impossible to conceal his surprise, but he answered without hesitation.

"There is no such bright prospect in _my_ life," he said. "I am not even in love."

She left him with a little sigh. It sounded like a sigh of relief.

Ernest Lismore was thoroughly puzzled. What could be the old lady"s object in ascertaining that he was still free from a matrimonial engagement? If the idea had occurred to him in time he might have alluded to her domestic life, and might have asked if she had children. With a little tact he might have discovered more than this.

She had described her feeling toward him as pa.s.sing the ordinary limits of grat.i.tude, and she was evidently rich enough to be above the imputation of a mercenary motive. Did she propose to brighten those dreary prospects to which he had alluded in speaking of his own life? When he presented himself at her house the next evening would she introduce him to a charming daughter?

He smiled as the idea occurred to him. "An appropriate time to be thinking of my chances of marriage!" he said to himself. "In another month I may be a ruined man."

The gentleman who had so urgently requested an interview was a devoted friend, who had obtained a means of helping Ernest at a serious crisis in his affairs.

It had been truly reported that he was in a position of pecuniary embarra.s.sment, owing to the failure of a mercantile house with which he had been intimately connected. Whispers affecting his own solvency had followed on the bankruptcy of the firm. He had already endeavoured to obtain advances of money on the usual conditions, and had been met by excuses for delay. His friend had now arrived with a letter of introduction to a capitalist, well known in commercial circles for his daring speculations and for his great wealth.

Looking at the letter, Ernest observed that the envelope was sealed.

In spite of that ominous innovation on established usage in cases of personal introduction, he presented the letter. On this occasion he was not put off with excuses. The capitalist flatly declined to discount Mr. Lismore"s bills unless they were backed by responsible names.

Ernest made a last effort.

He applied for help to two mercantile men whom he had a.s.sisted in _their_ difficulties, and whose names would have satisfied the money-lender. They were most sincerely sorry, but they too refused.

The one security that he could offer was open, it must be owned, to serious objections on the score of risk. He wanted an advance of twenty thousand pounds, secured on a homeward-bound ship and cargo. But the vessel was not insured, and at that stormy season she was already more than a month overdue. Could grateful colleagues be blamed if they forgot their obligations when they were asked to offer pecuniary help to a merchant in this situation? Ernest returned to his office without money and without credit.

A man threatened by ruin is in no state of mind to keep an engagement at a lady"s tea-table. Ernest sent a letter of apology to Mrs.

Callender, alleging extreme pressure of business as the excuse for breaking his engagement.

"Am I to wait for an answer, sir?" the messenger asked.

"No; you are merely to leave the letter."

In an hour"s time, to Ernest"s astonishment, the messenger returned with a reply.

"The lady was just going out, sir, when I rang at the door," he explained, "and she took the letter from me herself. She didn"t appear to know your handwriting, and she asked me who I came from.

When I mentioned your name I was ordered to wait."

Ernest opened the letter.

"DEAR MR. LISMORE: One of us must speak out, and your letter of apology forces me to be that one. If you are really so proud and so distrustful as you seem to be, I shall offend you; if not, I shall prove myself to be your friend.

"Your excuse is "pressure of business"; the truth (as I have good reason to believe) is "want of money." I heard a stranger at that public meeting say that you were seriously embarra.s.sed by some failure in the City.

"Let me tell you what my own pecuniary position is in two words: I am the childless widow of a rich man--"

Ernest paused. His antic.i.p.ated discovery of Mrs. Callender"s "charming daughter" was in his mind for the moment. "That little romance must return to the world of dreams," he thought, and went on with the letter.

"After what I owe to you, I don"t regard it as repaying an obligation; I consider myself as merely performing a duty when I offer to a.s.sist you by a loan of money.