Mr. Verne sat in the library and beside him sat a welcome guest.
Mrs. Montgomery made several excuses for her untimely interruption and Mr. Verne received them with the best of grace—he well knew what had prompted the visit—the good kind and generous heart.
As the matronly appearance of the new comer awakened a spirit of interest in the affairs of Sunnybank so it aroused the quiet unobtrusive master. Mr. Verne thanked God from the bottom of his heart that he could sit in his office and hear the voice of a true friend in kindly counsel with the domestics.
"Ah! if Matilda were only like her, how different our lives might have been," murmured the wearied man of business, then heaving a deep sigh glanced over the latest exchange sheets, trying to find relief from the depressing thoughts that were crowding hastily through his overworked brain.
"Sooner or later it must come and God knows it is through no discrepancies on my part. Poor little Madge; she is a good child. If she were only settled I would feel more relief; but she is to be bartered for pelf, poor child. I will stand by her to the last."
Voices in the parlor now claimed Mr. Verne's attention.
"Strange too, at the very moment," murmured the latter as he closed the folios and then ran his fingers through his hair as if to prepare for some pleasing reception.
A cheery voice exclaimed "business kept me away sir, but I could stand it no longer," and shaking his host's hand with more than hearty grasp Phillip Lawson soon found himself at home in Sunnybank's elegant parlor.
The young lawyer could not fail to note the careworn look upon Mr. Verne's passive countenance, nor did he fail to note the cause, while a strange yearning feeling went straight to the warm heart.
"If it were only in my power to help him," murmured Phillip in inarticulate tones as he took up a newspaper that lay on the small table near. It was a late English paper and bore the address of Mr. Verne in a neat graceful hand.