Punctually, as the shrill-toned bell of the black marble study clock

began to chime nine, Sir Pitt made his appearance, fresh, neat, smugly

shaved, with a waxy clean face, and stiff shirt collar, his scanty hair

combed and oiled, trimming his nails as he descended the stairs

majestically, in a starched cravat and a grey flannel dressing-gown--a

real old English gentleman, in a word--a model of neatness and every

propriety. He started when he saw poor Rawdon in his study in tumbled

clothes, with blood-shot eyes, and his hair over his face. He thought

his brother was not sober, and had been out all night on some orgy.

"Good gracious, Rawdon," he said, with a blank face, "what brings you

here at this time of the morning? Why ain't you at home?"

"Home," said Rawdon with a wild laugh. "Don't be frightened, Pitt. I'm

not drunk. Shut the door; I want to speak to you."

Pitt closed the door and came up to the table, where he sat down in the

other arm-chair--that one placed for the reception of the steward,

agent, or confidential visitor who came to transact business with the

Baronet--and trimmed his nails more vehemently than ever.

"Pitt, it's all over with me," the Colonel said after a pause. "I'm

done."

"I always said it would come to this," the Baronet cried peevishly, and

beating a tune with his clean-trimmed nails. "I warned you a thousand

times. I can't help you any more. Every shilling of my money is tied

up. Even the hundred pounds that Jane took you last night were

promised to my lawyer to-morrow morning, and the want of it will put me

to great inconvenience. I don't mean to say that I won't assist you

ultimately. But as for paying your creditors in full, I might as well

hope to pay the National Debt. It is madness, sheer madness, to think

of such a thing. You must come to a compromise. It's a painful thing

for the family, but everybody does it. There was George Kitely, Lord

Ragland's son, went through the Court last week, and was what they call

whitewashed, I believe. Lord Ragland would not pay a shilling for him,

and--"

"It's not money I want," Rawdon broke in. "I'm not come to you about

myself. Never mind what happens to me."

"What is the matter, then?" said Pitt, somewhat relieved.

"It's the boy," said Rawdon in a husky voice. "I want you to promise

me that you will take charge of him when I'm gone. That dear good wife

of yours has always been good to him; and he's fonder of her than he is

of his . . .--Damn it. Look here, Pitt--you know that I was to have

had Miss Crawley's money. I wasn't brought up like a younger brother,

but was always encouraged to be extravagant and kep idle. But for this

I might have been quite a different man. I didn't do my duty with the

regiment so bad. You know how I was thrown over about the money, and

who got it."




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