rther restrain him in his selfish
prodigality. "You have sold your daughter and ruined me," he said; "look
to the consequences." Colonel Wade sneered at his fiery kinsman: "You
will find Sir Richard's house a pleasant one to visit, Armigell; and he
should be worth an income to so experienced a gambler as yourself." Lord
Bellasis did visit at Sir Richard's house during the first year of his
cousin's marriage; but upon the birth of the son who is the hero of this
history, he affected a quarrel with the city knight, and cursing him
to the Prince and Poins for a miserly curmudgeon, who neither diced nor
drank like a gentleman, departed, more desperately at war with fortune
than ever, for his old haunts. The year 1827 found him a hardened,
hopeless old man of sixty, battered in health and ruined in pocket; but
who, by dint of stays, hair-dye, and courage, yet faced the world with
undaunted front, and dined as gaily in bailiff-haunted Belsize as he had
dined at Carlton House. Of the possessions of the House of Wotton Wade,
this old manor, timberless and bare, was all that remained, and its
master rarely visited it.

On the evening of May 3, 1827, Lord Bellasis had been attending a pigeon
match at Hornsey Wood, and having resisted the importunities of his
companion, Mr. Lionel Crofton (a young gentleman-rake, whose position
in the sporting world was not the most secure), who wanted him to go on
into town, he had avowed his intention of striking across Hampstead to
Belsize. "I have an appointment at the fir trees on the Heath," he said.

"With a woman?" asked Mr. Crofton.

"Not at all; with a parson."

"A parson!"

"You stare! Well, he is only just ordained. I met him last year at Bath
on his vacation from Cambridge, and he was good enough to lose some
money to me."

"And now waits to pay it out of his first curacy. I wish your lordship
joy with all my soul. Then, we must push on, for it grows late."

"Thanks, my dear sir, for the 'we,' but I must go alone," said Lord
Bellasis dryly. "To-morrow you can settle with me for the sitting of
last week. Hark! the clock is striking nine. Good night."

* * * * *

At half-past nine Richard Devine quitted his mother's house to begin the
new life he had chosen, and so, drawn together by that strange fate of
circumstances which creates events, the father and son approached each
other.

* * *