let the banker in, though the abode at which he sought admission was
hardly worthy of the distinguished honor thus conferred upon it.

Mrs. Wittleworth cautiously opened the door, for those who have the
least to steal are often the most afraid of robbers; but, recognizing
the lofty personage at the door, she invited him to enter, much
wondering what had driven him from his comfortable abode in Pemberton
Square to seek out her obscure residence at that hour in the evening.
Mr. Checkynshaw was conducted to an apartment which served as kitchen,
parlor, and bed-room for the poor woman, her son having a chamber up
stairs. A seat was handed to the great man, and he sat down by the
cooking-stove, after bestowing a glance of apparent disgust at the room
and its furnishings.

The banker rubbed his hands, and looked as though he meant business;
and Mrs. Wittleworth actually trembled with fear lest some new calamity
was about to be heaped upon the pile of misfortunes that already
weighed her down. Mr. Checkynshaw had never before darkened her doors.
Though she had once been a welcome guest within his drawing-rooms, she
had long since been discarded, and cast out, and forgotten. When the
poor woman, worse than a widow, pleaded before him for the means of
living, he had given her son a place in his office, at a salary of five
dollars a week. If she had gone to him again, doubtless he would have
done more for her; but, as long as she could keep soul and body
together by her ill-paid drudgery, she could not endure the humiliation
of displaying her poverty to him.

Mrs. Wittleworth had once lived in affluence. She had been brought up
in ease and luxury, and her present lot was all the harder for the
contrast. Her father, James Osborne, was an enterprising merchant, who
had accumulated a fortune of a hundred thousand dollars, on which he
had the good sense to retire from active business. Of his four
children, the two sons died, leaving the two daughters to inherit his
wealth.

John Wittleworth, the father of Fitz, was a clerk in the counting-room
of Mr. Osborne, and finally became the partner of his employer, whose
confidence he obtained to such a degree that the merchant was willing
to trust him with all he had. He married Ellen Osborne; and when her
father retired from business, his son-in-law carried it on alone. At
this time, doubtless, John Wittleworth was worthy of all the confidence
reposed in him, for the terrible habit, wh