To-day all was different, and Edgar Mansfield lay in a dishonored grave, his wife, driven mad by the reverses of fortune and the loss of a kind and loving husband, had disappeared from the circle of friends in which she had long figured as a leading spirit, while Frank had been thrown to shift for himself upon the cold charity of an unsympathizing world.
All this happened in the spring of 1879, which, all will be seen, was five years before our story begins.
Meanwhile, Elijah Callister had flourished, even as his friend Mansfield had slipped and fallen.
While Frank, who had obtained a position in the Webster National Bank, had been working hard to advance himself, with occasional slips and frequent lapses into dissipation and folly—always bitterly repented of when committed and it was too late—the father of Edna Callister had steadily increased in influence and wealth.
He was honored among business men, a pillar in the church, and high in social circles, and yet he had turned his back completely upon the son of his old-time friend, having even gone so far as to forbid him entrance to his home.
That the course he had pursued had not prevented the love which had existed from childhood between the youthful pair from developing as time went on, is evident from the conversation in which we now find the highly respectable Mr. Callister and the son of his former friend engaged.
"I am hardly as bad a fellow as you would make me out, Mr. Callister," answered Frank, flushing to the eyes at the stock speculator's last remark. "I have been a little wild and imprudent, I'll admit, but I've made up my mind to reform, and with Edna for my wife——"
"Stop!"
Mr. Callister had brought his fist down upon the desk with a bang.
"My daughter shall marry no pauper, Mr. Mansfield!" he exclaimed, with emphasis. "Come to me with proof that you are possessed of at least ten thousand dollars of your own, and I will listen to you—not before. At the present time I doubt if you can produce ten thousand cents."