I trust to you to see that the title is all as it
should be."

Mr. Trefalden slightly bent his head.

"I will give you my best advice upon it," he
replied. "In the mean time, I presume, you
would wish to give notice of your desire to
foreclose the mortgage."

"Precisely what I came here to do."

Mr. Trefalden took up a pen, and an oblong
slip of paper.

"You will allow twelve months, of course?"
said he, interrogatively.

"Certainly not. Why should I? Only six
are stipulated for in the deed."

"True; but courtesy—"

"Tush! this is a matter of law, not courtesy,"
interrupted the client.

"Still, I fear it would prove a serious
inconvenience to Lord Castletowers," remonstrated
the lawyer. " Twenty-five thousand pounds is
a large sum."

"Lord Castletowers's convenience is nothing to
me," replied the other, abruptly. "I'm a man of
the people, Mr. Trefalden. I have no respect
for coronets."

"Very possible, Mr. Behrens," said Trefalden,
in the same subdued tone; " but you may
remember that your interest has been paid with
scrupulous regularity, and that it is a very
hard matter for a poor nobleman—Lord
Castletowers is poor—to find so heavy a sum as
twenty-five thousand pounds at only six months'
notice."

"He did not think it too short when he gave
me the bond," said Mr. Behrens.

"He wanted money," replied Mr. Trefalden,
with a scarcely perceptible shrug of the
shoulders.

"Well, and now / want it. Come, come, Mr.
Trefalden, Lord Castletowers is your client, and,
no doubt, you would like to oblige him; but I
am your client too—and a better one than he is,
I'll be bound!"

"I trust, Mr. Behrens, that I should never
seek to oblige one client at the expense of
another," said the lawyer, stiffly. " If you think
that I would, you wrong me greatly."

"I think, sir, that, like most other folks, you
have more respect for a lord than a woolstapler,"
answered the man of the people, with a hard
smile. " But I don't blame you for it. You're
a professional man, and all professional men have
those prejudices."

"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Trefalden. " I
have none. I am the son of a merchant, and my
family have all been merchants for generations.
But this is idle. Let us proceed with our
business. I am to take your instructions, Mr.
Behrens, to serve Lord Castletowers with a
notice of your desire to foreclose the mortgage
in six months time?"

Mr. Behrens nodded, and the lawyer made a
note of the matter.

"I am also to understand that should Lord
Castletowers request a further delay of six
months, you would not be disposed to grant
it"

"Certainly not."

Mr. Trefalden laid his pen aside.

"If he can't find the money," said the
woolstapler, "let him sell the old place. I'll buy it."

"Shall I tell his lordship so?" asked Mr.
Trefalden, with a slight touch of sarcasm in his
voice.

"If you like. But it won't come to that, Mr,
Trefalden. You're a rich man—aha! you needn't
shake your head—you're a rich man, and you'll
lend him the money."

"Indeed you are quite mistaken, Mr. Behrens,"
replied the lawyer, rising. " I am a very poor
man."

"Ay, you say so, of course; but I know what
the world thinks of your poverty, Mr. Trefalden.
Well, good morning. You're looking pale, sir.
You work too hard, and think too much. That's
the way with you clever saving men. You should
take care of yourself."

"Pshaw! how can a bachelor take care of
himself?" said Mr. Trefalden, with a faint
smile.

"True; you should look out for an heiress."

The lawyer shook his head.

"No, no," said he, "I prefer my liberty.
Good morning."

"Good morning."

Mr. Trefalden ushered his client through the
office, listened for a moment to his heavy footfall
going down the stairs, hastened back to his
private room, and shut the door.

"Good God!" exclaimed he, in a low agitated
tone, " what's to be done now? This is ruin—
ruin!"

He took three or four restless turns about the
room, then flung himself into his chair, and buried
his face in his hands.

"He might well say that I looked pale,"
muttered he. " I felt pale. It came upon me
like a thunderstroke,  I a rich man, indeed! I
with twenty-five thousand pounds at command!
Merciful powers! what can I do? To whom can
I turn for it? What security have I to give?
Only six months' notice, too. I am lost! I
am lost!"

He rose, and went to the great safe beside the
fireplace. His hand trembled so that he could
scarcely fit the key to the lock. He threw back
one of the heavy iron-panelled doors, and
brought out a folded parchment, with the words
"Deed of MORTGAGE between Gervase Leopold
Wynncliffe, Earl of Castletowers, and Oliver
Behrens, Esq., of Bread-street, London," written
upon the outer side. Opening this document
upon the desk, he resumed his seat, and read it
carefully through from beginning to end. As he
did so, the trouble deepened and deepened on his
face, and his cheek grew still more deathly.
When he came to the signatures at the end, he
pushed it from him with a bitter sigh.

"Not a flaw in it!" he groaned. " No
pretext for putting off the evil day for even a week