"No," answered the surgeon, bluntly, "not unless he be a fool. You've plenty to meet the demand. You may not be as rich as you have been; but you have chosen to have your dance, and so you must pay the piper. As to the forty-nine thousand pounds, you can get somebody to advance it. If nobody else can be found, I will."
"You!" said Mr. Tracy.
"You, Woodyard!" cried the General.
"Oh, yes--why not?" replied the surgeon; "I'm a poor devil; but I have got something, and I have made a little more by these same speculations which have burnt your fingers, Tracy; only you see I never ventured upon any thing that was not sure--I touched nothing that was not going--I did not sow a field that was not ploughed and harrowed. You have nothing to do, therefore, but to let me know the day, and give me a little bill of sale of your personals and timber to the amount advanced, and the money shall be ready. Come, come!--do not lose heart. You will get somebody to advance the other money wanted; and in the mean time, if I were the General, I would run up to London, and look after these shares and scrip. I do not believe a word of some of them not bringing in money yet."
Mr. Tracy pressed his hand for his only reply; but he felt deeply the worthy man's kindness, the more, perhaps, from the blunt way in which it was offered.
"There, now, keep yourself quiet, and all will go well," continued Sandy Woodyard, taking up his hat and cane, and bending his steps homeward. But Mr. Tracy could not do what the surgeon directed. What man of lively imagination can ever keep himself quiet when danger is still impending over him? Who but Washington Irving's Dutchman could ever batten down the hatches, and sleep out the storm. Mr. Tracy felt that the storm was not passed yet. The good surgeon had afforded unexpected relief, it is true; but still the enormous sum to be paid within one fortnight, without any preparation for it, rose up to his eyes like the rock of adamant before the ship of Sinbad the sailor; and he asked himself again and again how it was to be raised, where it was to be found. There was no answer. Nevertheless, he assumed a tranquillity which he did not feel; and assuring his brother that he was better, and his mind relieved of its greatest burden, he went in with him to breakfast.
Rose was pale; but Emily seemed to have had bright dreams, for seldom had her beauty been more resplendent. Sir William Winslow sat near and gazed at her from time to time, with eyes full of passion; and as soon as breakfast was over, he requested to speak a few words with Mr. Tracy alone. That gentleman had not yet got his newspapers, and, to say the truth, was anxious in no light degree to look at the share list; but he courteously acceded at once, and led the way to his library. The conference was long; and when the young baronet came out, his eyes were sparkling and his air triumphant. He ordered his horses instantly, to ride over to Winslow Abbey; but while he waited at the door for their coming, he murmured, "She must be mine--she will never hesitate when her father's safety depends upon it!"
At a furious pace, up hill and down dale, rode Sir William Winslow, to his old family property, half-killing the groom behind him; and as soon as he arrived, he asked if Mr. Roberts or Mr. Grubbup, the law-agent of Lord Overton, had been there.
"Mr. Roberts hasn't been since Thursday last, Sir William," replied Mrs. Garbett, who opened the hall doors; "but the other gentleman with the queer name, is in the drawing-room, waiting for you, Sir."
Sir William strode to the drawing-room, horsewhip in hand, as if meditating mischief; but his salutation of the man of law was, on the contrary, quite condescending; "Well, Grubbup," he said, "I have just heard sad news of Lord Overton and my mad brother Chandos."