Arthur started up. "The _Shannon!_ God bless you, father."
"She lies at anchor in the Mersey," roared the old man, with all a father's pride at bringing such good news. "Why, the Rollestons will be in London at 2:15. See, here is his telegram."
At this moment in ran Penfold, to tell them that the _Shannon_ was up at Lloyd's, had anchored off Liverpool last night.
There was hearty shaking of hands, and Arthur Wardlaw was the happiest man in London--for a little while.
"Got the telegram at Elmtrees, this morning, and came up by the first express," said Wardlaw senior.
The telegram was from Sir Edward Rolleston. _"Reached Liverpool last night; will be at Euston, two-fifteen."_
"Not a word from _her!"_
"Oh, there was no time to write; and ladies do not use the telegram." He added slyly, "Perhaps she thought coming in person would do as well, or better, eh!"
"But why does he telegraph you instead of me?"
"I am sure I don't know. What does it matter? Yes, I do know. It was settled months ago that he and Helen should come to me at Elmtrees, so I was the proper person to telegraph. I'll go and meet them at the station; there is plenty of time. But, I say, Arthur, have you seen the papers?
Bartley Brothers obliged to wind up. Maple & Cox, of Liverpool, gone;
Atlantic trading. Terry & Brown suspended, International credit gone. Old friends, some of these. Hopley & Timms, railway contractors, failed, sir; liabilities, seven hundred thousand pounds and more."
"Yes, sir," said Arthur, pompously. "1866 will long be remembered for its revelations of commercial morality."
The old gentleman, on this, asked his son, with excusable vanity, whether he had done ill in steering clear of speculation; he then congratulated him on having listened to good advice and stuck to legitimate business.
"I must say, Arthur," added be, "your books are models for any trading firm."
Arthur winced in secret under this praise, for it occurred to him that in a few days his father would discover those books were all a sham and the accounts a fabrication.
However, the unpleasant topic was soon interrupted, and effectually, too; for Michael looked in, with an air of satisfaction on his benevolent countenance, and said, "Gentlemen, such an arrival! Here is Miss Rouse's sweetheart, that she dreamed was drowned."
"What is the man to me?" said Arthur peevishly. He did not recognize Wylie under that title.
"La, Mr. Arthur! why, he is the mate of the _Proserpine,_" said Penfold.
"What! Wylie! Joseph Wylie?" cried Arthur, in a sudden excitement that contrasted strangely with his previous indifference.
"What is that?" cried Wardlaw senior; "the _Proserpine;_ show him in at once."
Now this caused Arthur Wardlaw considerable anxiety; for obvious reasons he did not want his father and this sailor to exchange a word together.
However, that was inevitable now. The door opened; and the bronzed face and sturdy figure of Wylie, clad in a rough pea-jacket, came slouching in.
Arthur went hastily to meet him, and gave him an expressive look of warning, even while he welcomed him in cordial accents.
"Glad to see you safe home," said Wardlaw senior.
"Thank ye, guv'nor," said Wylie. "Had a squeak for it, this time."
"Where is your ship?"
Wylie shook his head sorrowfully. "Bottom of the Pacific."
"Good heavens! What! is she lost?"
"That she is, sir. Foundered at sea, twelve hundred miles from the Horn, and more."
"And the freight? the gold?" put in Arthur, with well-feigned anxiety.
"Not an ounce saved," said Wylie, disconsolately. "A hundred and sixty thousand pounds gone to the bottom."
"Good heavens!"
"Ye see, sir," said Wylie, "the ship encountered one gale after another, and labored a good deal, first and last; and we all say her seams must have opened; for we never could find the leak that sunk her," and he cast a meaning glance at Arthur Wardlaw.
"No matter how it happened," said the old merchant. "Are we insured to the full; that is the first question?"
"To the last shilling."
"Well done, Arthur."
"But still it is most unlucky. Some weeks must elapse before the insurances can be realized, and a portion of the gold was paid for in bills at short date."
"The rest in cash?"
"Cash and merchandise."
"Then there is the proper margin. Draw on my private account, at the Bank of England."
These few simple words showed the struggling young merchant a way out of all his difficulties.
His heart leaped so, he dared not reply, lest he should excite the old gentleman's suspicions.
But ere he could well draw his breath for joy, came a freezer.
"Mr. Burtenshaw, sir."
"Bid him wait," said Arthur, aloud, and cast a look of great anxiety on Penfold, which the poor old man, with all his simplicity, comprehended well enough.
"Burtenshaw, from Morland's. What does he want of us?" said Wardlaw senior, knitting his brows.
Arthur turned cold all over. "Perhaps to ask me not to draw out my balance. It is less than usual; but they are run upon; and, as you are good enough to let me draw on you-- By the by, perhaps you will sign a check before you go to the station."
"How much do you want?"
"I really don't know, till I have consulted Penfold. The gold was a large and advantageous purchase, sir."
"No doubt; no doubt. I'll give you my signature, and you can fill in the amount."
He drew a check in favor of Arthur Wardlaw, signed it, and left him to fill in the figures.
He then looked at his watch, and remarked they would barely have time to get to the station.
"Good heavens!" cried Arthur; "and I can't go. I must learn the particulars of the loss of the _Proserpine,_ and prepare the statement at once for the underwriters"
"Well, never mind. _I_ can go."
"But what will she think of me? I ought to be the first to welcome her."
"I'll make your excuses."
"No, no; say nothing. After all, it was you who received the telegram, so you naturally meet her; but you will bring her here, father. You won't whisk my darling down to Elmtrees till you have blessed me with the sight of her."
