of the torments of the habitations of woe. One of these crises was upon Hugh as he stopped in front of a bank and prepared to enter, glancing furtively around, to see that no one was following, for he was in deadly fear of the myrmydons if the law. There was a great dread upon his soul.
It was a fine building that he entered—a bank with a massive stone front, rising grandly over the pigmy shops on each side, like some noble nature towering above its vile, insignificant, earth-grubbing compeers. There was an air of solid comfort, of luxury, about it that revolted at the idea of the entrance into its sacred precincts of a being so world-forsaken as Hugh; and if the stones of the splendid portal had been sentient, they would have seized and thrust out the intruder. What right had he in that great hall, flooded with a mellow light from the glass dome that rose gracefully overhead? What right had he to stand side by side with these well-fed, well-clad men, who were making out their pay-in slips at the elegant tables, or handing cheques to the clerks, perched up behind the elaborately-carved and varnished desks? Was this not the home of wealth, and the resort of men who held some of the mammon of unrighteousness? What right had he there?
What right but that of cold and hunger—hunger, which will tame even the wildest and proudest nature.
He had come there to beg of two men who had, but a few years since, been dear to him and be to them. And now he was a wretched outcast; they stood behind their desks, looking happy and comfortable.
Hugh's gaze first fell on the cashier. He was a strong, well-built, young man, perhaps a little older than himself, but how different! Harry Robertson was a tall, well-built, handsome man, with energy and determination written in every line of his well-formed features, and pervading every action. Not that he appeared worldly and selfish. On the contrary, his mouth had a singularly sweet expression, especially when he smiled, and his eyes were full of gentle light, that flashed forth irresistibly whenever occasion offered, and prepossessed all who met his frank, fearless gaze. His high forehead betokened study, and the grave cast of his countenance told that his time was not frivolously employed. The careful observer, too, could notice shades of sadness cross his countenance at times, as clouds now and then darken the fields on the bright summer days. But now he was intent on counting out rolls of notes and little pillars of gold and silver to the customers, who, as it was near the close of bank hours, were thronging around. As Hugh gazed on him he felt something rise to his throat, and the recollections of the many happy days they had spent together acted like a spell. He hastily turned his eyes away, and fixed them on a young man who was answering some inquiries, perched up behind an exceedingly handsome desk. Here, indeed, was something for the eye to look upon: Robert Wilton was one of these youths who bring back to the mind the days of Greece, when men were godlike in face and form. Not that Robert was exactly one of these "lionlike men," with tawny beard, &c, who are the especial delight of gushing sensational lady novelists; he was nothing of the kind. He was an inexpressibly elegantly-formed youth, with a face that is very difficult to describe, but which many can imagine when they recall the darlings of their youth, the school favorites, the loved ones of the hearth. His face was round but not too full; his eyes brown, and formed for melting glances; and his mouth was capable of a witching smile, that could stay the wrath of the most unimpressionable. Over all this, there was cast an expression of such kindness, guilelessness, and genial good-humor, that made the whole ensemble irresistible.
Viewing the busy scene, Hugh felt something of the tortures of the damned. There flashed through his brain, in tableaux after tableaux, the past history of these two young men and himself. He remembered their growing up together, their early friendship, their schooldays, so full of boyish affection and boyish quarrels—the times when they entered upon the business of life in that very same bank, with downy cheeks and hearts beating high with hope at the fair vista opening before them. How happy they had been when, after their day's work was over, they would stroll out together and seek diversion, their minds without a care! He even remembered that they derived a positive pleasure from the performance of their duties; and this had continued until the shadow had come in the shape of woman, and then came hopeless love, hate, wild dissipation, reckless madness, despair, disgrace, debt, and now —— !
But there came, too, recollections of how these men had striven to save—how they had lent money to no end, which he squandered in evil ways—how they had, with merciful hands, sought to turn him out of the way of destruction, and how he had spurned them!
