“My name is Jerrold, sir—­Walter Jerrold, and I have come to bring you rents due for the property belonging to you which I occupy.”

“Which of my houses is it?” inquired Mr. Stillinghast, gruffly.

“One on C——­ Street, sir; and the warehouse on Bolton’s Wharf.  Here are the bills, which I hope you will find satisfactory,” replied the young man, handing him a roll of notes, which he inspected carefully one by one.

“All right, sir:  but the fact is, Mr. Jerrold, this is a very irregular way of doing business.  The next time we can settle our matters better at my counting-room,” said the old man, folding the notes away; after which he wrote a receipt, and handed to him.  “Many things might happen:  you might, have been robbed on your way hither; I may be robbed to-night.”

“We young fellows are sadly deficient in prudence, Mr. Stillinghast, but your suggestions shall not be lost on me,” replied Mr. Jerrold, pleasantly.  Although Mr. Jerrold’s visit was ostensibly one of business, he was not at all inattentive to the presence of the cousins.  His eye lingered on the faultless face of Helen, until she lifted her large brown eyes, and caught his glance, when a soft blush tinted her cheeks, and the long fringed lids drooped over them.  May dropped her handkerchief, which he picked up, and handed to her with a courteous bow.

“I fear, ladies, that my awkward visit has interrupted some domestic arrangement,” he said, observing the tea-table.

“Not at all, sir,” replied May, frankly.

“I beg a thousand pardons if I have; but good evening—­good evening, Mr. Stillinghast.  I shall beg your permission, sir, to-morrow to consult you about the investment of some funds I have lying idle.”

“Of course, sir;” said Mr. Stillinghast, following him to the door.  “A rising young man!  Come, come, make haste, and clear off the table; I have accounts to look over.”

“Come, dear Helen, it will be better for you to help a little,” whispered May.  “Here is the evening paper, sir, and your pipe when you are ready,” she said to her uncle.

“Humph!” was the only reply she received.  When every thing was finished, they bade him good night, and ran up to their chamber.

“Where were you to-day, May?” inquired Helen, as soon as May closed the door.

“I was at church—­down town—­up town—­then I came home,” said May, cheerfully; “and more than that I do not think proper to disclose.  But let us prepare for bed.  Dear Helen; we shall have to rise early in the morning, and you must get all the sleep you can.”

“May, my firm impression is that this sort of life will extinguish me,” said Helen, solemnly; “that horrid old man will certainly tear me to pieces, or bite off my head.  Indeed—­indeed, I am more afraid of him than any thing I ever saw.”

“What nonsense!  It will do you good.  You will soon learn to have an aim in life; it will drive you for comfort where only comfort can be found, and you will learn patience, forbearance and meekness, long-suffering, and charity.”