I was sullen and wrathful and resentful, an unlicked cub, I suspect, whose complaints were selfish ones concerning the giving up of my college life and its pleasures, and the sacrifice of social position and wealth.
Mother had--or so we thought at the time--a sum in her own name which would enable us to live; although not as we had lived by a great deal.
We took an apartment in an unfashionable quarter of the city, and thanks to the lawyer--who proved himself a real and true friend--I was given a minor position in a small bank.

Oddly enough, considering my former life, I liked the work, it interested me, and during the next few years I was made, by successive promotions, bookkeeper, teller, and, at last, assistant cashier.

No news came from the absconder.

The police had lost track of him, and it seemed probable that he would never be heard of again.

But over Mother and myself hung always the dread that he might be found and all the dreadful business revived once more.