"I am in great straits; I must get hold of eight hundred dollars, and have not in all this luckless town a friend to whom I can turn except you.

Exert your faculties, Anton, and contrive to get me the money." "It is no easy matter for me to do so," replied Anton, gravely.

"The sum is no inconsiderable one, and the money which I have here at my disposal is not my own." "You will contrive it, though," continued Eugene, persevering; "if you do not help me out of this scrape, I know not where to turn.

Our colonel is not to be trifled with.

I risk the loss of all if the matter be not soon settled and hushed up." And in his distress he took Anton's hand and pressed it.
Anton looked at the troubled face of Lenore's brother, and replied with an inward struggle: "I have a little sum belonging to me invested in the funds of our house, and have now got money to transmit thither; it would be possible to tell the cashier to take my money and to keep back the sum you require." "You are my deliverer," cried Eugene, suddenly relieved; "in a month, at latest, I will repay you the eight hundred dollars," added he, inclined at the speedy prospect of money to hope the best.
Anton went to his desk and counted out the sum.