ing in the great bankruptcy, in October,' answered Dunstan's voice
behind his ear; and in the earth-coloured face which the beggar turned
up towards him, Sturk recognised his own features--''Tis I'--he gasped
out with an oath, and awoke in a horror, not knowing where he was.
'I--I'm dying.'

'October,' thought Sturk--'bankruptcy. 'Tis just because I'm always
thinking of that infernal bill, and old Dyle's renewal, and the rent.'

Indeed, the surgeon had a stormy look forward, and the navigation of
October was so threatening, awful, and almost desperate, as he stood
alone through the dreadful watches at the helm, with hot cheek and
unsteady hand, trusting stoically to luck and hoping against hope, that
rocks would melt, and the sea cease from drowning, that it was almost a
wonder he did not leap overboard, only for the certainty of a cold head
and a quiet heart, and one deep sleep.

And, then, he used to tot up his liabilities for that accursed month,
near whose yawning verge he already stood; and then, think of every
penny coming to him, and what might be rescued and wrung from runaways
and bankrupts whose bills he held, and whom he used to curse in his bed,
with his fists and his teeth clenched, when poor little Mrs. Sturk,
knowing naught of this danger, and having said her prayers, lay sound
asleep by his side. Then he used to think, if he could only get the
agency in time it would set him up--he could borrow L200 the day after
his appointment; and he must make a push and extend his practice. It was
ridiculous, that blackguard little Toole carrying off the best families
in the neighbourhood, and standing in the way of a man like him; and
Nutter, too--why, Lord Castlemallard knew as well as he did, that Nutter
was not fit to manage the property, and that _he was_--and Nutter
without a child or anyone, and _he_ with seven! and he counted them over
mentally with a groan. 'What was to become of them?' Then Nutter would
be down upon him, without mercy, for the rent; and Dangerfield, if,
indeed, he cared to do it [curse it, he trusted nobody], could not
control him; and Lord Castlemallard, the selfish profligate, was away in
Paris, leaving his business in the hands of that bitter old botch, who'd
go any length to be the ruin of him.

Then he turned over the chances of borrowing a hundred pounds from the
general--as he did fifty times every day and night, but always with the
same result--'No; curse him, he's as weak as wat