mirthful, whilst the
grey-haired baronet gazed with stony-eyed despair at some memoranda
which he extracted from his papers.

"Ten thousand pounds!" he muttered. "Not a great sum for the
millionaire financier, Sir Arthur Deane, to raise on his note of hand.
A few months ago men offered me one hundred times the amount on no
better security. And now, to think that a set of jabbering fools in
London should so destroy my credit and their own, that not a bank will
discount our paper unless they are assured Lord Ventnor has joined the
board! Fancy me, of all men, being willing to barter my child for a few
pieces of gold!"

The thought was maddening. For a little while he yielded to utter
despondency. It was quite true that a comparatively small amount of
money would restore the stability of his firm. Even without it, were
his credit unimpaired, he could easily tide over the period of
depression until the first fruits of his enterprise were garnered.
Then, all men would hail him as a genius.

Wearily turning over his papers, he suddenly came across the last
letter written to him by Iris's mother. How she doted on their only
child! He recalled one night, shortly before his wife died, when the
little Iris was brought into her room to kiss her and lisp her
infantile prayers. She had devised a formula of her own--"God bless
father! God bless mother! God bless me, their little girl!"

And what was it she cried to him from the beach?

"Your own little girl given back to you!"

Given back to him! For what--to marry that black-hearted scoundrel
whose pastime was the degradation of women and the defaming of honest
men? That settled it. Instantly the cloud was lifted from his soul. A
great peace came upon him. The ruin of his business he might not be
able to avert, but he would save from, the wreck that which he prized
more than all else--his daughter's love.

The engines dropped to half speed--they were entering the harbor of
Singapore. In a few hours the worst would be over. If Ventnor
telegraphed to London his withdrawal from the board, nothing short of a
cabled draft for ten thousand pounds would prevent certain creditors
from filing a bankruptcy petition. In the local banks the baronet had
about a thousand to his credit. Surely among the rich merchants of the
port, men who knew the potentialities of his scheme, he would be able
to raise the money needed. He would try hard. Already he felt braver.
The old fire had returned