kissed him fondly. Her tears were falling on
his rough brown curls.

"Don't cry over me, mother; I'm not
worth it; I never was; and you mustn't go
back to your company with pale cheeks and red
eyes. There, there, it's not as bad as it might
be, you know; for, as nurse says, I'm alive and
well to tell it. The fact is——" He rose, and
walked up and down the room in front of the
sofa his mother was sitting, while he
spoke. "The fact is, I must have money.
Don't start, don't be frightened. I have not
done anything very dreadful, only the
consequences are nearly as fatal as if I had. I have
not stolen, or forged, or embezzled property.
I am not rich or respectable enough to get the
chance. But I have lost a large sum at the
gaming–table—a sum I don't possess, and have
no other means than this of getting."

"Go on," said his mother. She was deadly
pale now, and her hands were tightly clasped
together, as they lay on her lap, white and slender,
the rich purple of her velvet dress.

He glanced at her, quickened his step, and
continued in a hard reckless tone, but with some
difficulty of utterance. "I should have been
utterly ruined, but for a friend of mine, who
lent me the money. Play debts must be paid,
mother; and Routh, though he's not much
richer than I am, would not let me be
completely lost for want of a helping hand. But
he had to borrow the money. He could get it
lent to him. There's no one but him to lend
me a shilling, and he did get it, and I had it
and paid it away. But in a short time now he
must pay it back, and the interest upon it. Luck
has been against us both."

"Against you both, George," said Mrs.
Carruthers. "Is your friend also a gambler,
then?"

"Yes, he is," said Dallas, roughly; "he is a
gambler. All my friends are gamblers and
drunkards, and everything that's bad. What
would you have? Where am I to get pious,
virtuous, respectable friends? I haven't a
shilling; I haven't a character. Your husband
has taken care I shall have no credit. Every
one knows I am disowned by Mr. Carruthers,
and forbidden to show my face at Poynings: and
I'm not showing it; I'm only in the servants'
quarters, you see." Again he laughed, and
again his mother shrank from the sound. "But
though my friend is a gambler, like myself, he
helps me when I want help, and inconveniences
himself to do it. Perhaps that's more than
respectable friends—if I had them—would do for
me. It's more than I have ever known
respectable friends do for any one."

Mrs Carruthers rose, and turned her colourless
face upon her son. There was an angry
light in her large hazel eyes, whose dewy
brightness time had not yet greatly harmed.
As they confronted each other, a strong
likeness between the mother and son asserted itself.
"George," she said, "you are putting me to
needless pain. You have said enough to show
me that you are unchanged. You have come
here, endangering my peace, and compromising
yourself, for the purpose, I suppose, of asking
me for money to repay this person who
relieved you from a gambling debt. Is this your
business here?"

"Yes," he said, shortly, and with a lowering
brow.

"Then listen to me. I cannot give you any
money." He started, and came close up to her.
"No, George. I have no money at my
disposal, and you ought to know that, as well as I
know it. Every shilling I have ever had of my
own, I have given you. You know I never
grudged it. You know you had it all; but
that leaves me without resources. Mr.
Carruthers will not help you." She grew paler
still, and her lips trembled. "I have asked
him many times to alter his determination,
a determination which you cannot say is
undeserved, George, but it is in vain. I might,
perhaps, wonder that you would stoop to take
assistance from a man who has such an opinion
of you, and who has forbidden you his house,
but that the sad knowledge I have gained of
such lives as yours has taught me that they
utterly destroy self-respect—that a profligate is
the meanest of creatures. Calm yourself.
There is no use in giving loose to your temper
towards me, George. You have the power to afflict
me still, but you can deceive me no more."

She sat down again, wearily, leaning her
arm on the back of the sofa, and her head on
her hand. There was silence for a few moments.
Then she said:

"How much money do you owe this man,
George, and when must it be paid?"

"I owe him a hundred and forty pounds,
mother, and it must be paid this day month."

"A hundred and forty pounds!" repeated
Mrs. Carruthers, in a terrified tone.

"Yes; precisely that sum, and I have not a
pound in the world to exist on in the mean time.
I am cleaned out, that's the fact," he went on,
with a dismal attempt at speaking lightly;
"and I can't carry on any longer." But he
spoke to inattentive ears. His mother was lost
in thought.

"I cannot give you money," she said, at
length. "I have not the command of any."

"This doesn't look like want of it," said her
son, bitterly, as he caught a handful of her
velvet dress in his grasp, and then dropped it
scornfully.

"My personal expenses are all dictated by
Mr. Carruthers, George, and all known to him.
Don't suppose I am free to purchase dress or
not, as I choose. I tell you the exact truth, as
I have always told you." She spoke coldly and
seriously, like one whose mind is made up to a
great trial, who hopes neither to alter its
character nor to lessen its weight.

"I only know I must have it," he said, "or
I don't see any resource for me except to cut
my throat."

"No, no," returned his mother, "do not say
such dreadful things. Give me time. I will
try to find some way of helping you by the time