But a peer of the realm, and one whose rent-roll is sixty thousand per annum, does not go to ruin in a day.  There sat the earl, in his library now, in his nine-and-fortieth year, and ruin had not come yet—­that is, it had not overwhelmed him.  But the embarrassments which had clung to him, and been the destruction of his tranquility, the bane of his existence, who shall describe them?  The public knew them pretty well, his private friends knew better, his creditors best; but none, save himself knew, or could ever know, the worrying torment that was his portion, wellnigh driving him to distraction.  Years ago, by dint of looking things steadily in the face, and by economizing, he might have retrieved his position; but he had done what most people do in such cases—­put off the evil day sine die, and gone on increasing his enormous list of debts.  The hour of exposure and ruin was now advancing fast.

Perhaps the earl himself was thinking so, as he sat there before an enormous mass of papers which strewed the library table.  His thoughts were back in the past.  That was a foolish match of his, that Gretna Green match for love, foolish so far as prudence went; but the countess had been an affectionate wife to him, had borne with his follies and his neglect, had been an admirable mother to their only child.  One child alone had been theirs, and in her thirteenth year the countess had died.  If they had but been blessed with a son—­the earl moaned over the long-continued disappointment still—­he might have seen a way out of his difficulties.  The boy, as soon as he was of age, would have joined with him in cutting off the entail, and——­

“My lord,” said a servant entering the room and interrupting the earl’s castles in the air, “a gentleman is asking to see you.”

“Who?” cried the earl, sharply, not perceiving the card the man was bringing.  No unknown person, although wearing the externals of a foreign ambassador, was ever admitted unceremoniously to the presence of Lord Mount Severn.  Years of duns had taught the servants caution.

“His card is here, my lord.  It is Mr. Carlyle, of West Lynne.”

“Mr. Carlyle, of West Lynne,” groaned the earl, whose foot just then had an awful twinge, “what does he want?  Show him up.”

The servant did as he was bid, and introduced Mr. Carlyle.  Look at the visitor well, reader, for he will play his part in this history.  He was a very tall man of seven and twenty, of remarkably noble presence.  He was somewhat given to stooping his head when he spoke to any one shorter than himself; it was a peculiar habit, almost to be called a bowing habit, and his father had possessed it before him.  When told of it he would laugh, and say he was unconscious of doing it.  His features were good, his complexion was pale and clear, his hair dark, and his full eyelids drooped over his deep gray eyes.  Altogether it was a countenance that both men and women liked to