“I have none, my lord,” said Kilcullen; “I am again ready to listen to yours.”

“My plans?—­I have no further plans to offer for you.  You are ruined, utterly ruined:  you have done your best to ruin me and your mother; I have pointed out to you, I arranged for you, the only way in which your affairs could be redeemed; I made every thing easy for you.”

“No, my lord:  you could not make it easy for me to get my cousin’s love.”

“Don’t contradict me, sir.  I say I did.  I made every thing straight and easy for you:  and now you come to me with a whining story about a girl’s love!  What’s her love to me, sir?  Where am I to get my thirty thousand pounds, sir?—­and my note of hand is passed for as much more, at this time twelve-month!  Where am I to raise that, sir?  Do you remember that you have engaged to repay me these sums?—­do you remember that, or have such trifles escaped your recollection?”

“I remember perfectly well, my lord, that if I married my cousin, you were to repay yourself those sums out of her fortune.  But I also remember, and so must you, that I beforehand warned you that I thought she would refuse me.”

“Refuse you,” said the earl, with a contortion of his nose and lips intended to convey unutterable scorn; “of course she refused you, when you asked her as a child would ask for an apple, or a cake!  What else could you expect?”

“I hardly think your lordship knows—­”

“Don’t you hardly think?—­then I do know; and know well too.  I know you have deceived me, grossly deceived me—­induced me to give you money—­to incur debts, with which I never would have burdened myself had I not believed you were sincere in your promise.  But you have deceived me, sir—­taken me in; for by heaven it’s no better!—­it’s no better than downright swindling—­and that from a son to his father!  But it’s for the last time; not a penny more do you get from me:  you can ruin the property; indeed, I believe you have; but, for your mother’s and sister’s sake, I’ll keep till I die what little you have left me.”

Lord Cashel had worked himself up into a perfect frenzy, and was stamping about the room as he uttered this speech; but, as he came to the end of it, he threw himself into his chair again, and buried his face in his hands.

Lord Kilcullen was standing with his back resting against the mantel-piece, with a look of feigned indifference on his face, which he tried hard to maintain.  But his brow became clouded, and he bit his lips when his father accused him of swindling; and he was just about to break forth into a torrent of recrimination, when Lord Cashel turned off into a pathetic strain, and Kilcullen thought it better to leave him there.