uggled and
strove; but failed. Hours and minutes were now of vital consequence;
and, in a rash and unprotected moment, he permitted himself to write a
letter to the London house, begging them, as a particular favour, just
for one week to retire the bill they held against him. The London
house civilly complied with the request, and five days of that last
and dreary week swept by, leaving poor Allcraft as ill prepared for
payment as they had found him. What could he do? At length the gulf
had opened--was yawning--to receive him. How should he escape it?

Heaven, in its infinite mercy, has vouchsafed to men _angels_ to guide
and cheer them on their difficult and thorny paths. Could Michael
suffer, and Margaret not sympathize? Could he have a sorrow which she
might chase away, and, having the power, lack the heart to do it?
Impossible! Oh! hear her in her impassioned supplications; hear her at
midnight, in their disturbed and sleepless bedchamber, whilst the
doomed man sits at her side in agony, clasps his face, and buries it
within his hand for shame and disappointment.

"Michael, do not break my heart. Take, dearest, all that I possess;
but, I entreat you, let me see you cheerful. Do not take this thing to
heart. Whatever may be your trouble, confide it, love, to me. I will
try to kill it!"

"No, no, no," answered Allcraft wildly; "it must not be--it shall not
be, dear Margaret. You shall be imposed upon no longer. You shall not
be robbed. I am a villain!"

"Do not say so, Michael. You are kind and good; but this cruel
business has worn you out. Leave it, I implore you, if you can, and
let us live in peace."

"Margaret, it is impossible. Do not flatter yourself or me with the
vain hope of extrication. Release will never come. I am bound to it
for my life; it will take longer than a life to effect deliverance.
You know not my calamities."

"But I _will_ know them, Michael, and share them with you, if they
must be borne. I am your wife, and have a right to this. Trust me,
Michael, and do not kill me with suspense. What is this new
affliction? Whatsoever it may be, it is fitting that I should know
it--yes, will know it, dearest, or I am not worthy to lie beside you
there. Tell me, love, how is it that for these many days you have
looked so sad, and sighed, and frowned upon me. I am conscious of no
fault. Have I done amiss? Say so, and I will speedily repair the
fault?"

Michael pressed his Margaret to his heart, an