“Do you mean that it would have ruined you completely, father?” said Stafford.

“Completely!” replied Sir Stephen in a low voice, his head drooping.  “I had staked everything on this venture, had staked even more than I possessed.  I cannot explain all the details, the ramifications, of the scheme which I have been working.  You could not understand them if I were to talk to you for a week.  Suffice it, that if I had failed to get this concession, I should have been an utterly ruined man, should have had to go through the bankruptcy court, should have been left without a penny.  And not only that:  I should have dragged a great many of the men, of the friends who had trusted to my ability, who have believed in me, into the same pit; not only such men as Griffenberg and Wirsch and the Beltons, but the Plaistows, the Clansdales, and the Fitzharfords.  They would have suffered with me, would have, considered themselves betrayed.”

Stafford drew a long breath.  There seemed to him still a chance of saving himself, the girl he loved, above all—­his honour.

“But even if it were so, father,” he said; “other men have failed, other men have been defeated, ruined, and left penniless, and yet have risen and shaken the dust from them and fought their way again to the heights.  You’re not an old man, you are strong and clever, and you are not alone.” he said, in a lower voice.  “I’m not much use, I know.  But I’ll try and help you all I can.  I’ve often felt ashamed of myself for living such an idle, useless life; often felt that I ought to do something to justify my existence.  There’s a chance now; at any rate, there’s an occasion, a necessity for my waking up and stepping into the ring to do a little fighting on my own account.  We may be beaten by Mr. Falconer; but don’t say we’re utterly crushed.  That doesn’t sound like you, sir; and I don’t understand why you should chuck up the sponge so quickly.”

Sir Stephen raised his head and looked at Stafford with a curious expression of mingled surprise and apprehension.

“What is it you are saying, Stafford?” he asked.  “What is it you mean?  I don’t understand.  We’re not beaten; Ralph Falconer has offered to make the concession over to me; and no one need know that I have failed, that he had stolen the march on me.  You heard what he said:  that you were in love with his daughter Maude, and that of course he could not injure his future son-in-law.  Stafford!” He sprang to his feet and began to pace up and down the room.  “I know that this has touched your pride—­I can give a pretty good guess as to how proud you are—­but, for God’s sake! don’t let your pride stand in the way of this arrangement.”

“But—­” Stafford began; for he felt that he could not longer keep back the truth, that his father must be told not only that there was nothing between Maude and himself, but that he loved Ida Heron.

But before he could utter another word Sir Stephen stopped before him, and with hands thrown out appealingly, and with a look of terror and agony in his face, cried in broken accents: