they did not even remember the name; their books gave no account of any Melchior. A few submitted a large balance against Frank’s father; and in the course of three days he found himself safely lodged in prison, to answer for them to the very last farthing.
This was an unpleasant prospect for a man who had so far confided in the honest people of Antwerp, as to consider them as the authors of his future fortunes. The bubble had vanished in a moment; and he began to feel all the tortures of purgatory—thrown into prison—his vessel wrecked just as he was making the harbour, where he hoped he should be safe from the storms of life. The thought of Mela was a dagger to his heart: there was no longer even a shadow of probability that he could ever emerge from this abyss of ruin into respectability and credit. Besides, were he able even to raise his head above water, his beloved was, on her side, perfectly unable to lend him the least assistance.
Cruel despair now took possession of him; he felt no wish but to die, and to end all his torments. In fact, he did make an attempt to starve himself; but, as such a process, especially with an excellent stomach, is not in every one’s power, after two long days’ abstinence, he was seized with such a griping fit of hunger, that he could resist it no longer. He
