country was known for "his
word being as good as his bond,"--John Halifax.

The banker breathed freer; but his respite was short: an imperative
message came from the gentlemen above-stairs, desiring his presence.
With a kind of blind dependence he looked towards John.

"Let me go in your stead. You can trust me to manage matters to the
best of my power?"

The banker overwhelmed him with gratitude.

"Nay, that ought to be my word, standing in this house, and
remembering"--His eyes turned to the two portraits--grimly-coloured
daubs, yet with a certain apology of likeness too, which broadly smiled
at one another from opposite walls--the only memorials now remaining of
the good doctor and his cheery little old wife. "Come, Mr. Jessop,
leave the matter with me; believe me, it is not only a pleasure, but a
duty."

The old man melted into senile tears.

I do not know how John managed the provincial magnates, who were
sitting in council considering how best to save, first themselves, then
the bank, lastly--If the poor public outside had been made acquainted
with that ominous "lastly!" Or if to the respectable conclave
above-stairs, who would have recoiled indignantly at the vulgar word
"jobbing," had been hinted a phrase--which ran oddly in and out of the
nooks of my brain, keeping time to the murmur in the street, "Vox
populi, vox Dei"--truly, I should have got little credit for my
Latinity.

John came out in about half an hour, with a cheerful countenance; told
me he was going over to Coltham for an hour or two--would I wait his
return?

"And all is settled?" I asked.

"Will be soon, I trust. I can't stay to tell you more now. Goodbye."

I was no man of business, and could assist in nothing. So I thought
the best I could do was to pass the time in wandering up and down the
familiar garden, idly watching the hoar-frost on the arbutus leaves,
and on the dry stems of what had been dear little Mrs. Jessop's
favourite roses--the same roses I had seen her among on that momentous
evening--the evening when Ursula's bent neck flushed more crimson than
the sunset itself, as I told her John Halifax was "too noble to die for
any woman's love."

No--he had lived for it--earned it--won it. And musing over these
long-ago times, my heart melted--foolish old heart that it was! with a
trembling joy, to think that Providence had, in some way, used my poor
useless hand to give to him this blessing, a man's chiefest blessing