"Nothing very new. It seems Mr. Frazer--his wife told the story--sold
him, a twelvemonth ago, a curricle and pair of horses. Part of the money,
after some delay, was paid. The rest was dunned for unavailingly a long
time. At length curricle and horses scoured the roads under the management
of Monsieur Petitgrave, brother to Frank's _housekeeper_, the
handsome mustec. This gave Frazer uneasiness, and some importunity
extorted from Frank a note, which, being due _last Tuesday_, was, at
Frank's importunity, withdrawn from bank to prevent protest. Next day,
however, it was paid."

I ventured to ask if Mrs. Frazer had mentioned any sum. "Yes; a round
sum,--_five hundred dollars_"

Fortunately the dark prevented my mother from perceiving my confusion.
It was Tuesday evening on which I had lent the money to Frank. He had
given me reason to believe that his embarrassments arose from his cotton-
weaving scheme, and that the sum demanded from me was to pay the wages of
craving but worthy labourers.

While in the first tumult of these reflections, some one brought a
letter. It was from my brother. This was the tenor:--

"I fear, Jane, I have gained but little credit with you for
punctuality. I ought to have fulfilled my promise, you will say. I will
not excuse my breach of it by saying (though I might say so, perhaps, with
truth) that you have no use for the money; that I have pressing use for
it, and that a small delay, without being of any importance to you, will
be particularly convenient to me. No; the true and all-sufficient reason
why I did not return the money was--because I had it not. To convince you
that I am really in need, I enclose you a check for another five hundred,