It was the morning after Lord Kilcullen’s departure, and Lord Cashel was still anything but comfortable.  Her ladyship had been bothering him about the poor boy, as she called her son, now that she learned he was in distress; and had been beseeching him to increase his allowance.  The earl had not told his wife the extent of their son’s pecuniary delinquencies, and consequently she was greatly dismayed when her husband very solemnly said,

“My lady, Lord Kilcullen has no longer any allowance from me.”

“Good gracious!” screamed her ladyship; “no allowance?—­how is the poor boy to live?”

“That I really cannot tell.  I cannot even guess; but, let him live how he may, I will not absolutely ruin myself for his sake.”

The interview was not a comfortable one, either to the father or mother.  Lady Cashel cried a great deal, and was very strongly of opinion that her son would die of cold and starvation:  “How could he get shelter or food, any more than a common person, if he had no allowance?  Mightn’t he, at any rate, come back, and live at Grey Abbey?—­That wouldn’t cost his father anything.”  And then the countess remembered how she had praised her son to Mrs Ellison, and the bishop’s wife; and she cried worse than ever, and was obliged to be left to Griffiths and her drops.

This happened on the evening of Lord Kilcullen’s departure, and on the next morning her ladyship did not appear at breakfast.  She was weak and nervous, and had her tea in her own sitting-room.  There was no one sitting at breakfast but the earl, Fanny, and Lady Selina, and they were all alike, stiff, cold, and silent.  The earl felt as if he were not at home even in his own breakfast-parlour; he felt afraid of his ward, as though he were conscious that she knew how he had intended to injure her:  and, as soon as he had swallowed his eggs, he muttered something which was inaudible to both the girls, and retreated to his private den.

He had not been there long before the servant brought in our friend’s name.  “The Rev. George Armstrong”, written on a plain card.  The parson had not put the name of his parish, fearing that the earl, knowing from whence he came, might guess his business, and decline seeing him.  As it was, no difficulty was made, and the parson soon found himself tete-a-tete with the earl.

“I have taken the liberty of calling on you, Lord Cashel,” said Mr Armstrong, having accepted the offer of a chair, “on a rather delicate mission.”

The earl bowed, and rubbed his hands, and felt more comfortable than he had done for the last week.  He liked delicate missions coming to him, for he flattered himself that he knew how to receive them in a delicate manner; he liked, also, displaying his dignity to strangers, for he felt that strangers stood rather in awe of him:  he also felt, though he did not own it to himself, that his manner was not so effective with people who had known him some time.