waited to see Mordicai and his bailiff out of the house. When
Mordicai was fairly at the bottom of the stairs, he turned, and, white
with rage, looked up at Lord Colambre.

'Charity begins at home, my lord,' said he. 'Look at home--you shall pay
for this,' added he, standing half-shielded by the house door, for Lord
Colambre moved forward as he spoke the last words; 'and I give you this
warning, because I know it will be of no use to you--Your most obedient,
my lord.'

The house door closed after Mordicai.

'Thank Heaven!' thought Lord Colambre, 'that I did not horsewhip that
mean wretch! This warning shall be of use to me. But it is not time to
think of that yet.'

Lord Colambre turned from his own affairs to those of his friend, to
offer all the assistance and consolation in his power. Sir John Berryl
died that night. His daughters, who had lived in the highest style in
London, were left totally unprovided for. His widow had mortgaged her
jointure. Mr. Berryl had an estate now left to him, but without any
income. He could not be so dishonest as to refuse to pay his father's
just debts; he could not let his mother and sisters starve. The scene of
distress to which Lord Colambre was witness in this family made a still
greater impression upon him than had been made by the warning or the
threats of Mordicai. The similarity between the circumstances of his
friend's family and of his own struck him forcibly.

All this evil had arisen from Lady Berryl's passion for living in
London and at watering-places. She had made her husband an ABSENTEE--an
absentee from his home, his affairs, his duties, and his estate. The
sea, the Irish Channel, did not, indeed, flow between him and his
estate; but it was of little importance whether the separation was
effected by land or water--the consequences, the negligence, the
extravagance, were the same.

Of the few people of his age who are capable of profiting by the
experience of others, Lord Colambre was one. 'Experience,' as an elegant
writer has observed, 'is an article that may be borrowed with safety,
and is often dearly bought.'

CHAPTER V

In the meantime, Lady Clonbrony had been occupied with thoughts very
different from those which passed in the mind of her son. Though she
had never completely recovered from her rheumatic pains, she had become
inordinately impatient of confinement to her own house, and weary of
those dull evenings at home, which had, in her son's abse