“I repeat, that, to those who know the name of Maltboy, no assurance need be given that Mr. Whedell’s affairs will be honorably adjusted.”  Quigg again winked at the young lawyer.

Matthew, having recovered from the flutter into which he was thrown, was about to disclaim the office thus thrust upon him, when the voice of Mr. Whedell was heard from the first landing.  He had come to listen to the disturbance, and smile at it.

“It is my dear Maltboy!” he exclaimed, catching at the straw of a hope.  “Thank Heaven! he is here.  Yes, gentlemen, he is my lawyer, and I refer you to him for the adjustment of all your claims.  Come up, my dear Maltboy.”

“Oh! it is dear—­good—­Mr. Maltboy!” added a voice, qualified by sobs.  “How kind of him—­to—­to come here at this time!  Oh—­ho!”

Maltboy never could resist Beauty in any condition; and, for Beauty in tears, he would cheerfully lay down his life.  He did not deny that he was the counsel and confidential adviser of Mr. Whedell, but rushed up stairs, just in time to receive the falling form of Mrs. Chiffield in his arms.

Matthew felt that he had no moral right to clasp that burden of loveliness; but he took it tenderly in his arms, and followed Mr. Whedell into the room which father and daughter had just left.  There he deposited it, with the gentleness of a professional nurse, on the sofa, when it opened its eyes, and faintly said, “Heaven bless you, our benefactor!”

The creditors were pouring into the apartment.  “In the name of humanity,” said Mr. Whedell, “leave us for a few moments.  I appeal to you as gentlemen and Christians.”

The appeal produced no effect; those to whom it was made conceiving, perhaps, that it did not apply to them.  Maltboy added the remark:  “If you will withdraw at once, I promise you that in fifteen minutes we will proceed to business.”

“That’s all right,” said Quigg, winking again at Matthew.  “Let us go, friends.”

The proposition was accepted, as the best thing that could be done under the circumstances, and all the creditors retired.

Mr. Whedell then locked the door, and proceeded to inform Mr. Maltboy of the black-hearted treachery of which he and his daughter had been the victims, in the Chiffield alliance.  Clementina corroborated the paternal statement with numerous particulars, delivered in a heart-broken voice, showing what an abandoned wretch her husband was.  Matthew listened, nodded his head, and said, “The brute!” and the “The monster!” at intervals, looking the while into the deep blue eyes of Mrs. Chiffield, which sparkled with tears.  “If he had but been the lucky man!” he thought.  But it suddenly occurred to Matthew that these thoughts were a little irregular; and, besides, he had a fresh recollection of the troubles from which Fayette Overtop had not yet emerged.  He therefore pulled out his watch, and informed Mr. Whedell that thirteen of the fifteen minutes were consumed.  The creditors were beginning to pace heavily in the entry.