Lord Mount Severn mused for a few moments before he spoke.  “Mr. Carlyle,” he began, “my affairs are very bad, and ready money I must find somewhere.  Now East Lynne is not entailed, neither is it mortgaged to anything like its value, though the latter fact, as you may imagine, is not patent to the world.  When I bought it at a bargain, eighteen years ago, you were the lawyer on the other side, I remember.”

“My father,” smiled Mr. Carlyle.  “I was a child at the time.”

“Of course, I ought to have said your father.  By selling East Lynne, a few thousands will come into my hands, after claims on it are settled; I have no other means of raising the wind, and that is why I have resolved to part with it.  But now, understand, if it were known abroad that East Lynne is going from me, I should have a hornet’s nest about my ears; so that it must be disposed of privately.  Do you comprehend?”

“Perfectly,” replied Mr. Carlyle.

“I would as soon you bought it as anyone else, if, as you say, we can agree about terms.”

“What does your lordship expect for it—­at a rough estimate?”

“For particulars I must refer you to my men of business, Warburton & Ware.  Not less than seventy thousand pounds.”

“Too much, my lord,” cried Mr. Carlyle, decisively.

“And that’s not its value,” returned the earl.

“These forced sales never do fetch their value,” answered the plain-speaking lawyer.  “Until this hint was given me by Beauchamp, I had thought East Lynne was settled upon your lordship’s daughter.”

“There’s nothing settled on her,” rejoined the earl, the contraction on his brow standing out more plainly.  “That comes of your thoughtless runaway marriages.  I fell in love with General Conway’s daughter, and she ran away with me, like a fool; that is, we were both fools together for our pains.  The general objected to me and said I must sow my wild oats before he would give me Mary; so I took her to Gretna Green, and she became Countess of Mount Severn, without a settlement.  It was an unfortunate affair, taking one thing with another.  When her elopement was made known to the general, it killed him.”

“Killed him!” interrupted Mr. Carlyle.

“It did.  He had disease of the heart, and the excitement brought on the crisis.  My poor wife never was happy from that hour; she blamed herself for her father’s death, and I believe it led to her own.  She was ill for years; the doctors called it consumption; but it was more like a wasting insensibly away, and consumption never had been in her family.  No luck ever attends runaway marriages; I have noticed it since, in many, many instances; something bad is sure to turn up from it.”

“There might have been a settlement executed after the marriage,” observed Mr. Carlyle, for the earl had stopped, and seemed lost in thought.

“I know there might; but there was not.  My wife had possessed no fortune; I was already deep in my career of extravagance, and neither of us thought of making provision for our future children; or, if we thought of it, we did not do it.  There is an old saying, Mr. Carlyle, that what may be done at any time is never done.”