rich man's money, if any useful step could be taken, it must be done
at once; the step must be taken now. In another week, perhaps in
another day, Mr. Bertram would be beyond the power of will-making.
No bargain could then be driven in which it should be stipulated
that after his death his grandchild should be left unmolested--for a
consideration. The bargain, if made at all, must be made now--now at
once.

It will be thought that Sir Henry would have played his game better
by remaining quiet; that his chance of being remembered in that
will would be greater if he did not now make himself disagreeable.
Probably so. But men running hither and thither in distress do not
well calculate their chances. They are too nervous, too excited
to play their game with judgment. Sir Henry Harcourt had now
great trouble on his shoulders: he was in debt, was pressed for
money on every side, had brought his professional bark into great
disasters--nearly to utter shipwreck--and was known to have been
abandoned by his wife. The world was not smiling on him. His great
hope, his once strong hope, was now buried in those Hadley coffers;
and it was not surprising that he did not take the safest way in his
endeavours to reach those treasures which he so coveted.

On the following morning, George received Miss Baker's letter, and
very shortly afterwards he started for Hadley. Of course he could not
but remember that Lady Harcourt was staying there; that she would
naturally be attending upon her grandfather, and that it was all but
impossible that he should not see her. How were they to meet now?
When last they had been together, he had held her in his arms, had
kissed her forehead, had heard the assurance of her undying love. How
were they to meet now?

George was informed by the servant who came to the door that his
uncle was very ill. "Weaker to-day," the girl said, "than ever he had
been." "Where was Miss Baker?" George asked. The girl said that Miss
Baker was in the dining-room. He did not dare to ask any further
question. "And her ladyship is with her grandfather," the girl added;
upon hearing which George walked with quicker steps to the parlour
door.

Miss Baker met him as though there had been no breach in their former
intimacy. With her, for the moment, Lady Harcourt and her troubles
were forgotten, and she thought only of the dying man upstairs.

"I am so glad you have come!" she said. "He does not say much about
it. You remembe