"It is so. You see, this wedding of young Travice Arkell's, that is to bring so much money into the family, has been delayed too long," observed Mr. Palmer. "It is said now that Travice, poor fellow, has an unconquerable antipathy to his bride, and though he consented to the alliance to save his family, he has been unable to bring his mind to conclude it. While the grass grows, the steed starves, you know."
"Miss Fauntleroy was willing that her money should be sacrificed."
"It would not have been sacrificed, not a penny of it; but the use of it would have enabled the house to redeem its own money, and bring its affairs to a satisfactory close. Had there been any risk to the money, William Arkell would not have agreed to touch it: you know his honourable nature. However, through the protracted delay—which Travice will no doubt reflect sharply upon himself for—the marriage and the money will come too late to save them."
Mr. Palmer departed, and Lucy sat like one in a dream. Her aunt glanced at her, and mused, and glanced again. "What are you thinking of, Lucy?" she asked.
Lucy burst into tears. "Aunt, I was thinking what a blight it is to be poor! If I had thousands, I would willingly devote them all to save Mr. Arkell. Papa told me, when he lay dying, how his cousin William had helped him from time to time; had saved his home more than once; and had never been paid back again."
"And suppose you had money—attend to me, Lucy, for I wish a serious answer—suppose you were in possession of money, would you be really willing to sacrifice a portion of it, to save this good friend, William Arkell?"
"All, aunt, all!" she answered, eagerly, "and think it no sacrifice."
"Then put on your bonnet, Lucy, child," returned Miss Arkell, "and come with me."
They went forth to the house of Mr. Arkell; and as it turned out, the visit was opportune, for Mrs. Arkell was away, dining from home. Mr. Arkell was in a little back parlour, looking over accounts and papers, with his son. The old man—and he was looking an old man that evening, with trouble, not with years—rose in surprise when he saw who were his visitors, and Travice's hectic colour went and came. Mildred had never been in the room since she was a young woman, and it called up painful recollections. It was the twilight hour of the evening: that best hour, of all the twenty-four, for any embarrassing communication.
"William," began Miss Arkell, seating herself by her cousin, and speaking in a low tone, "we have heard it whispered that your affairs are temporarily involved. Is it so?"