y
years by the feet of all who were dearest to him; the quiet chambers
above where his mother, his wife, and his children were at this moment
sleeping peacefully. How unutterably and painfully sweet all his home
was to him!

Very prosperous his life had been; hardly overshadowed by a single
cloud. His father, who had been the third partner in the oldest bank in
Riversborough, had lived until he was old enough to step into his place.
The bank had been established in the last century, and was looked upon
as being as safe as the Bank of England. The second partner was dead;
and the eldest, Mr. Clifford, had left everything in his hands for the
last five years.

No man in Riversborough had led a more prosperous life than he had. His
wife was from one of the county families; without fortune, indeed, but
with all the advantages of high connections, which lifted him above the
rank of mere business men, and admitted him into society hitherto closed
even to the head partner in the old bank; in spite even of the fact that
he still occupied the fine old house adjoining the bank premises. There
was scarcely a townsman who was held to be his equal; not one who was
considered his superior. Though he was little over thirty yet, he was at
the head of all municipal affairs. He had already held the office of
mayor for one year, and might have been re-elected, if his wife had not
somewhat scorned the homely bourgeois dignity. There was no more popular
man in the whole town than he was.

But he had been building on the sands, and the storm was rising. He
could hear the moan of the winds growing louder, and the rush of the
on-coming floods drawing nearer. He must make good his escape now, or
never. If he put off flight till to-morrow, he would be crushed with the
falling of his house.

He lifted himself up heavily, and looked round the room. It was his
private office, at the back of the bank, handsomely furnished as a bank
parlor should be. Over the fire-place hung the portrait of old Clifford,
the senior partner, faithfully painted by a local artist, who had not
attempted to soften the hard, stern face, and the fixed stare of the
cold blue eyes, which seemed fastened pitilessly upon him. He had never
seen the likeness before as he saw it now. Would such a man overlook a
fault, or have any mercy for an offender? Never! He turned away from it,
feeling cold and sick at heart; and with a heavy, and very bitter sigh
he locked the door upon