“I hope so,” was the reply.  “Have you some notes in your possession payable to Walter Monroe?”

“Who asks the question?”—­very civilly.

“My name is Monroe.”

“Ah!  Mr. Sandford is your agent, I presume?”

“Yes.  I left the notes with him.”

“And you wanted to raise some money on them?”

“Yes, that is what I wish.”

“Then you’ll be pleased to know that Mr. Sandford has anticipated you.  I loaned him eight thousand dollars upon them this morning.”

“Loaned him eight thousand dollars?”

“Certainly.  Is it extraordinary that your agent has done what you desired?”

“I never asked him to borrow for me; and I never authorized him to transfer the notes.”

“He hasn’t transferred them; he has only pledged them.”

“He couldn’t pledge them; he had no legal right in them.”

“But he has pledged them, and they are in my safe, subject to the repayment of the sum I loaned.”

“If you have loaned Mr. Sandford money, that is your affair.”

“And yours, too, my friend, you will find, if he doesn’t pay it.”

“You haven’t a right to detain the notes a moment.”

“I have the possession, which will answer as well as the right.  And let me advise you,—­don’t get excited and conclude that everything is wrong.  You are not so well posted as you might be.  Go and see Mr. Sandford, and I haven’t a doubt you’ll find the money ready for you.”

“I shall go.  But I wish you to understand, that, if I am not ‘posted,’ as you say, I do know my rights, and I shall take proper measures to get possession of my property.  You have no more hold upon it than a pawnbroker has upon a stolen spoon.”

Trembling with the unusual excitement, and despairing of being able to aid his employer, Monroe did not wait for a reply, but rushed to the Vortex again.  Mr. Sandford had gone out on business, was the answer.  He had not gone far, if the truth were known; for his position commanded the office-door, and he saw every visitor.

Time did not lag that eventful day; the hands seemed to sweep round the dial on the Old State House as though they had been swords in pursuit of some dilatory debtor.  It now lacked only fifteen minutes of two, and Monroe, sick at heart, turned his steps towards Milk Street, to announce the utter failure of his plan.  Mr. Lindsay received the intelligence with more firmness than might have been expected.

“Monroe, my friend,—­for I can truly call you so,—­you have done what you could.  It was not your fault that your agent deceived and swindled you.  You generously offered me your all.  I shall never forget it.  I can’t say more now.  Please stay and inform the notary, when he comes, that he must take the usual course.  Tell John, when he comes with the brougham, that he may drive back.  I shall take the cars to-day, and shall not be at home, probably, until after tea.  I pray God, Monroe, that you may never go home as I do now.  O Clara, my daisy, my darling! how can I tell you?”