“I am rather disappointed,” said Markland, “at the small advances made, so far, from the other side of the Atlantic.  They ought to have been far heavier.  We have borne more than our share of the burden.”

“So I have written, and expect good remittances by next steamers.”

“How much?”

“Forty or fifty thousand dollars at least.”

“Suppose the money does not come?”

“I will suppose nothing of the kind.  It must and will come.”

“You and I have both lived long enough in the world,” said Markland, “to know that our wills cannot always produce in others the actions we desire.”

“True enough.  But there are wills on the other side of the Atlantic as well as here, and wills acting in concert with ours.  Have no concern on this head; the English advances will be along in good season.  In the mean time, if more money is wanted, our credit is good to almost any amount.”

This proposition in regard to credit was no mere temporary expedient, thought of at the time, to meet an unexpected contingency.  It had been all clearly arranged in the minds of Fenwick and other ruling spirits in New York, and Markland was not permitted to leave before his name, coupled with that of “some of the best names in the city,” was on promissory notes for almost fabulous amounts.

Taking into account the former business experience of Mr. Markland, his present reckless investments and still more reckless signing of obligations for large sums, show how utterly blind his perceptions and unsettled his judgment had become.  The waters he had so successfully navigated before were none of them strange waters.  He had been over them with chart, compass, and pilot, many times before he adventured for himself.  But now, with a richly freighted argosy, he was on an unknown sea.  Pleasantly the summer breeze had wafted him onward for a season.  Spice-islands were passed, and golden shores revealed themselves invitingly in the distance.  The haven was almost gained, when along the far horizon dusky vapours gathered and hid the pleasant land.  Darker they grew, and higher they arose, until at length the whole sky was draped, and neither sun nor stars looked down from its leaden depths.  Yet with a desperate courage he kept steadily onward, for the record of observations since the voyage began was too imperfect to serve as a guide to return.  Behind was certain destruction; while beyond the dark obscurity, the golden land of promise smiled ever in the glittering sunshine.

CHAPTER XXIX.