ondon lawyer. The boy said
he could not help himself. He did not want the money; he would be very
glad to give the money to his mother if he had the power. But Madame
Esmond would not hear of these reasons. Here was a chance of making
Harry's fortune--dear Harry, who was left with such a slender younger
brother's pittance--and the wretches in London would not help him; his
own brother, who inherited all his papa's estate, would not help him. To
think of a child of hers being so mean at _fourteen years of age_!

Into this state of mind the incident plunged Madame Warrington, and no
amount of reasoning could bring her out of it. On account of the
occurrence she at once set to work saving for her younger son, for whom
she was eager to make a fortune. The fine buildings were stopped as well
as the fine fittings which had been ordered for the interior of the new
home. No more books were bought; the agent had orders to discontinue
sending wine. Madame Esmond deeply regretted the expense of a fine
carriage which she had from England, and only rode in it to church,
crying out to the sons sitting opposite to her, "Harry, Harry! I wish I
had put by the money for thee, my poor portionless child; three hundred
and eighty guineas of ready money to Messieurs Hatchett!"

"You will give me plenty while you live, and George will give me plenty
when you die," says Harry gaily.

"Not until he changes in _spirit_, my dear," says the lady grimly,
glancing at her elder boy. "Not unless Heaven softens his heart and
teaches him _charity_, for which I pray day and night; as Mountain knows;
do you not, Mountain?"

Mrs. Mountain, Ensign Mountain's widow, who had been a friend of Rachel
Esmond in her school days, and since her widowhood had been Madame
Esmond's companion in Castlewood house, serving to enliven many dull
hours for that lady and enjoying thoroughly the home which Castlewood
afforded her and her child. Mrs. Mountain, I say, who was occupying the
fourth seat in the family coach, said, "Humph! humph! I know you are
always disturbing yourself about this legacy, and I don't see that there
is any need."

"Oh, no! no need!" cries the widow, rustling in her silks; "of course I
have no need to be disturbed, because my eldest born is _a disobedient
son and an unkind brother;_ because he has an estate, and my poor Harry,
bless him, but a _mess of pottage_."

George looked despairingly at his mother until he could see her no more
for eye