all right in the end, but in the meantime she could not face
additional expenditure. Godwin did not like to be reminded of the
razor's edge on which the affairs of the household were balanced. At
present it brought about a very sudden change in his state of mind;
he went upstairs again, and sat with the letter before him, sunk in
misery. The reaction had given him a headache.

A fortnight, and no word from Lady Whitelaw. But neither was
Godwin's letter posted.

Was he at liberty to indulge the self-respect which urged him to
write? In a moment of heated confidence it was all very well to talk
of 'getting some occupation' in London, but he knew that this might
prove no easy matter. A year's work at the School of Mines would
decidedly facilitate his endeavour; and, seeing that his mother's
peace depended upon his being speedily self-supporting, was it not a
form of selfishness to reject help from one who could well afford
it? From a distance, he regarded Lady Whitelaw with more charity; a
longer talk with her might have led to better mutual apprehension.
And, after all, it was not she but her husband to whom he would
stand indebted. Sir Job was a very kind-hearted old fellow; he had
meant thoroughly well. Why, clearly, the bestower of this third
year's allowance would not be Lady Whitelaw at all.

If it were granted. Godwin began to suffer a troublesome misgiving;
perchance he had gone too far, and was now, in fact, abandoned to
his own resources.

Three weeks. Then came the expected letter, and, as he opened it,
his heart leaped at the sight of a cheque--talisman of unrivalled