too, had been announced by name. Mrs. Pompley might
have learned already that a Digby was with her husband,--she might be
actually dressing to receive him worthily; there was not a moment to
lose.

The colonel exploded. "Sir, I wonder at your impudence. See Mrs.
Pompley! Hush, sir, hush!--hold your tongue. I have disowned your
connection. I will not have my wife--a woman, sir, of the first
family--disgraced by it. Yes; you need not fire up. John Pompley is not
a man to be bullied in his own house. I say disgraced. Did not you run
into debt, and spend your fortune? Did not you marry a low creature,--a
vulgarian, a tradesman's daughter?--and your poor father such a
respectable man,--a benefited clergyman! Did not you sell your
commission? Heaven knows what became of the money! Did not you turn (I
shudder to say it) a common stage-player, sir? And then, when you were
on your last legs, did I not give you L200 out of my own purse to go
to Canada? And now here you are again,--and ask me, with a coolness
that--that takes away my breath--takes away-my breath, sir--to
provide for the child you have thought proper to have,--a child
whose connections on the mother's side are of the most abject and
discreditable condition. Leave my house, leave it! good heavens, sir,
not that way!--this." And the colonel opened the glass-door that led
into the garden. "I will let you out this way. If Mrs. Pompley should
see you!" And with that thought the colonel absolutely hooked his arm
into his poor relation's, and hurried him into the garden.

Mr. Digby said not a word, but he struggled ineffectually to escape from
the colonel's arm; and his colour went and came, came and went, with a
quickness that showed that in those shrunken veins there were still some
drops of a soldier's blood.

But the colonel had now reached a little postern-door in the
garden-wall. He opened the latch, and thrust out his poor cousin. Then
looking down the lane, which was long, straight, and narrow, and seeing
it was quite solitary, his eye fell upon the forlorn man, and remorse
shot through his heart. For a moment the hardest of all kinds of
avarice, that of the genteel, relaxed its gripe. For a moment the
most intolerant of all forms of pride, that which is based upon false
pretences, hushed its voice, and the colonel hastily drew out his purse.
"There," said he, "that is all I can do for you. Do leave the town as
quick as you can, and don't mention your name to a