If the banks in question were run upon, and obliged to call in all their resources, his credit must go; and this, in his precarious position, was ruin.
He had concealed his whole condition from his father, by false book-keeping.

Indeed, he had only two confidants in the world; poor old Michael Penfold, and Helen Rolleston's portrait; and even to these two he made half confidences.

He dared not tell either of them all he had done, and all he was going to do.
His redeeming feature was as bright as ever.

He still loved Helen Rolleston with a chaste, constant and ardent affection that did him honor.

He loved money too well.