of severity to his face, and for that painful stoop in his shoulders, he might still have been accounted a handsome man.  In youth he had been a very handsome man, and had shone forth in the world, popular, beloved, respected, with all the good things the world could give.  The first blow upon him was the death of his wife.  That hurt him sorely, but it did not quite crush him.  Then his only daughter died also, just as she became a bride.  High as the Lady Blanche Neville had stood herself, she had married almost above her rank, and her father’s heart had been full of joy and pride.  But she had perished childless,—­in child-birth, and again he was hurt almost to death.  There was still left to him a son,—­a youth indeed thoughtless, lavish, and prone to evil pleasures.  But thought would come with years; for almost any lavishness there were means sufficient; and evil pleasures might cease to entice.  The young Lord Neville was all that was left to the Earl, and for his heir he paid debts and forgave injuries.  The young man would marry and all might be well.  Then he found a bride for his boy,—­with no wealth, but owning the best blood in the kingdom, beautiful, good, one who might be to him as another daughter.  His boy’s answer was that he was already married!  He had chosen his wife from out of the streets, and offered to the Earl of Scroope as a child to replace the daughter who had gone, a wretched painted prostitute from France.  After that Lord Scroope never again held up his head.

The father would not see his heir,—­and never saw him again.  As to what money might be needed, the lawyers in London were told to manage that.  The Earl himself would give nothing and refuse nothing.  When there were debts,—­debts for the second time, debts for the third time, the lawyers were instructed to do what in their own eyes seemed good to them.  They might pay as long as they deemed it right to pay, but they might not name Lord Neville to his father.

While things were thus the Earl married again,—­the penniless daughter of a noble house,—­a woman not young, for she was forty when he married her, but more than twenty years his junior.  It sufficed for him that she was noble, and as he believed good.  Good to him she was,—­with a duty that was almost excessive.  Religious she was, and self-denying; giving much and demanding little; keeping herself in the background, but possessing wonderful energy in the service of others.  Whether she could in truth be called good the reader may say when he has finished this story.

Then, when the Earl had been married some three years to his second wife, the heir died.  He died, and as far as Scroope Manor was concerned there was an end of him and of the creature he had called his wife.  An annuity was purchased for her.  That she should be entitled to call herself Lady Neville while she lived, was the sad necessity of the condition.  It was understood by all who came near the Earl that no one was to mention her within his hearing.  He was thankful that no heir had come from that most horrid union.  The woman was never mentioned to him again, nor need she trouble us further in the telling of our chronicle.