“I heard him tell Francis,” remarked Emily, “that he could not think of intruding, and he insisted on Mrs. Ives’s going, but she had employments to keep her at home.”

The carriage soon reached an angle in the road where the highways between Bolton Castle and Moseley Hall intersected each other, at a point on the estate of the former.  Mrs. Wilson stopped a moment to inquire after an aged pensioner, who had lately met with a loss in business, which she was fearful must have greatly distressed him.  In crossing a ford in the little river between his cottage and the market-town, the stream, which had been swollen unexpectedly higher than usual by heavy rains, had swept away his horse and cart loaded with the entire produce of his small field, and with much difficulty he had saved even his own life.  Mrs. Wilson had not had it in her power until this moment to inquire particularly into the affair, or to offer the relief she was ever ready to bestow on proper objects.  Contrary to her expectations, she found Humphreys in high spirits, showing his delighted grand-children a new cart and horse which stood at the door, and exultingly pointing out the excellent qualities of both.  He ceased talking on the approach of the party, and at the request of his ancient benefactress he gave a particular account of the affair.

“And where did you get this new cart and horse, Humphreys?” inquired Mrs. Wilson, when he had ended.

“Oh, madam, I went up to the castle to see the steward, and Mr. Martin just mentioned my loss to Lord Pendennyss, ma’am, and my lord ordered me this cart, ma’am, and this noble horse, and twenty golden guineas into the bargain to put me on my legs again—­God bless him for it, for ever!”

“It was very kind of his lordship, indeed,” said Mrs. Wilson, thoughtfully:  “I did not know he was at the castle.”

“He’s gone, already, madam; the servants told me that he just called to see the earl, on his way to Lon’on; but finding he’d went a few days agone to Ireland my lord went for Lon’on, without stopping the night even.  Ah! madam,” continued the old man, who stood leaning on a stick, with his hat in his hand, “he’s a great blessing to the poor; his servants say he gives thousands every year to the poor who are in want—­he is main rich, too; some people say, much richer and more great like than the earl himself.  I’m sure I have need to bless him every day of my life.”

Mrs. Wilson smiled mournfully as she wished Humphreys good day and put up her purse, finding the old man so well provided for; a display or competition in charity never entering into her system of benevolence.

“His lordship is munificent in his bounty,” said Emily, as they drove from the door.

“Does it not savor of thoughtlessness to bestow so much where he can know so little?” Lord Chatterton ventured to inquire.

“He is,” replied Mrs. Wilson, “as old Humphrey says, main rich; but the son of the old man and the father of these children is a soldier in the ——­th dragoons, of which the earl is colonel, and that accounts to me for his liberality,” recollecting, with a sigh, the feelings which had drawn her out of the usual circle of her charities in the case of the same man.