Lucy ventured no further remonstrance. When her papa took a thing into his head, there was no turning him.
They started together through the bad weather to the house of William Arkell. The dear old house! where Peter had spent so many pleasant evenings in his youthful days. He crossed the yard at once to the manufactory, telling Lucy to go indoors and wait for him. William Arkell was alone in his private room, and was not a little surprised at the visit.
"Why Peter!" he exclaimed, rising from his desk, and placing an arm-chair by the fire, "What has brought you out such a day as this? Sit down."
Before Peter did so, he closed the door, so that they should be quite alone. He then turned and clasped his cousin by the hand.
"William," he began, emotion mingling with his utterance, "I have come to you, a poor unhappy man. Conscious of my want of power to do what I ought—fearing that there is less chance of my doing it, day by day."
"What do you mean?" inquired Mr. Arkell.
"Amidst the ruin that has almost universally fallen on the city, you have not escaped, I fear your property is being seriously drawn upon?"
"And, unless things mend, it will soon be drawn to an end, Peter."
"Heaven help me!" exclaimed Peter. "And to know that I am in your debt, and cannot liquidate it! It is to speak of this, that I am come out to-day."
"Nay, now you are foolish!" exclaimed Mr. Arkell. "What matters a hundred pounds or two, more or less, to me? The sum would cut but a poor figure by the side of what I am now habituated to losing. Never think of it, Peter: I never shall. Besides, you had it from me in driblets, so that I did not miss it."