already talked openly together of their
circumstances. When Mrs. Charlewood learned that
she would have to leave Bramley Manor, to
resign the luxuries to which she had of late
years been accustomed, and perhaps to sink
into a poverty greater than she had ever known
in her life, she bore the tidings with so little
apparent depression as to astonish her children.

"Law! my dears," she said, "don't it all
seem like dust in the balance, the money and
the finery, when real affliction comes upon us?
If he had been spared to us, I dare say I might
have fretted over all this loss, and the come-
down in the world, but now it don't seem as if
anything like that was worth thinking about."

But for her children she grieved heartily.
Walter was obliged to confess to his brother
that he owed already considerable sums of
money in Dublin."

"I'm very sorry for it, Wat. Your allowance
was a very ample one. However, I'm not
going to reproach you. Of course we must see
about the sale of your commission at once, and
also get rid of your horses, and whatever
valuables there may be belonging to you. I
should think that would realise more than
enough to cover what you owe."

"And what am I to do then?"

"Do, Watty?"

"Of course the debts of honour must be
paid. I had a run of bad luck at loo, and that
cleaned me out awfully. But as to the others—
well, the tradesmen took the risk; and if other
folks lose thousands, they might make up their
minds to lose twenties. Especially as they're
a rascally lot, and charged me two hundred per
cent more than the things were worth, just for
the month or two's credit."

"Walter," said his brother, sternly, "let me
hear no more of that cant. I don't do you the
injustice to suppose that it comes from your
heart. I understand perfectly from whom you
thoughtlessly imitate it. And I know, too, how
you estimate those from whom you have caught
it. The friends of Walter Charlewood rich
who would give the cold shoulder to Walter
Charlewood poor, I think you and I are both able
to put down at their proper value. But our just
debts must be paid as far as we are able, even
though we have to sell the coat off our backs."

Walter was subdued by his brother's
determined manner, and said no more. But he
complained so bitterly to his mother of Clement's
settling everything as he chose, and giving him
no voice in the matter, that Mrs. Charlewood
ventured to speak timidly to her eldest son, and
to sound him as to the possibility of the sale of
Walter's commission being avoided. But
Clement showed her at once, and conclusively, the
complete fallacy of any such idea.

"Dear mother," he said, "if Wat could not
manage to keep out of debt with the liberal
allowance my father made him, do you suppose
it is possible that he can live on his pay? No,
no: it is out of the question, believe me. I
will do all I can to make things fall as lightly on
him as possible; but he must make up his mind
to earn his bread now. There is no help for it."

There was no help for it. But Walter, beginning
to make the astonishing and painful
discovery—doubly painful when made so late—that
the course of events shaped themselves without
the smallest reference to his comfort and
convenience, indulged in peevish grumblings against
his brother, finding that more satisfactory and
less absurd than to accuse the universe in general.

Once Penelope being present at one of these
ebullitions, broke out into one of her old sharp
stinging moods, and told Walter so many truths,
conveyed with such searching, keen-edged words,
that Mrs. Charlewood interposed to shield
Walter from the storm he had provoked.

"There, there, Penny," said the poor, foolish,
kindly woman, "don't be 'ard on your brother,
love. If we can say nothing but 'arsh things to
each other now, it is a sad, sad case."

"What things does he say of Clement?"
retorted Penelope, casting a glance of withering
scorn at Walter, who sat by the fire half
whimpering, half defiant. "He to whine and
complain of the special hardship of his case! Look
at Clem. He has lost more than Walter ever
dreamed of. The firm of Gandry and Charlewood
was his idol. I don't say it is good to
have idols at all; but at least his demanded
some nobler offerings than can be supplied by
tailors and billiard-markers. Clement's heart is
cut—I know it, I see it—by the downfal of the
great name and honourable supremacy of the
house. He worked to maintain it. He will
give his last crust to clear it of a stain before
the eyes of all men. He has borne, in other
ways, more than any of you know, without
complaining. His first thought all along has been
for others; but because he does not tear his
hair and cry aloud like a spoilt baby, do you
think he feels nothing? Walter Charlewood, I
am full of faults, I know; I am neither meek,
nor sweet, nor humble; but, as Heaven is my
witness, I would rather cut off my right hand at
this moment than give one needless pang to our
brother's brave, constant, generous spirit, by my
poor, pitiful, selfish cowardice. If I were a man,
I would help those I love. Being a woman, I can
but suffer for them; but I will do it silently, and
with some decent rag of self-control."

  CHAPTER VIII. A COUPLE OF LETTERS.

THE portion of my story that must next be
told will be, perhaps, best presented in the
following letters, the last of which was received
about a fortnight subsequent to the arrival of
the first at its destination.

                       LETTER I.

     From Mrs. Malachi Dawson, in Rome, to
          Miss Charlewood, at Bramley Manor.

                                    "Rome, Piazza di Spagna,
                                   "25th of November, 18—

"In my first hurried letter, sent in reply to
the awful tidings then just received, I feel, my
dear Penelope, that I did not express myself
sufficiently at length, nor in any way make clear
to you my state of mind. How, indeed, was
it possible to do so? So terrible and
overwhelming a shock, to one whom you know to