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George Esmond, when this little matter was referred to him, and his mother vehemently insisted that he should declare himself, was of the opinion of Mr. Washington and Mr. Draper, the London lawyer. The boy said he could not help himself. He did not want the money; he would be very glad to give the money to his mother if he had the power. But Madame Esmond would not hear of these reasons. Here was a chance of making Harry’s fortune–dear Harry, who was left with such a slender younger brother’s pittance–and the wretches in London would not help him; his own brother, who inherited all his papa’s estate, would not help him. To think of a child of hers being so mean at fourteen years of age !

Into this state of mind the incident plunged Madame Warrington, and no amount of reasoning could bring her out of it. On account of the occurrence she at once set to work saving for her younger son, for whom she was eager to make a fortune. The fine buildings were stopped as well as the fine fittings which had been ordered for the interior of the new home. No more books were bought; the agent had orders to discontinue sending wine. Madame Esmond deeply regretted the expense of a fine carriage which she had from England, and only rode in it to church, crying out to the sons sitting opposite to her, “Harry, Harry! I wish I had put by the money for thee, my poor portionless child; three hundred and eighty guineas of ready money to Messieurs Hatchett!”

“You will give me plenty while you live, and George will give me plenty when you die,” says Harry gaily.

“Not until he changes in spirit, my dear,” says the lady grimly, glancing at her elder boy. “Not unless Heaven softens his heart and teaches him charity, for which I pray day and night; as Mountain knows; do you not, Mountain?”

Mrs. Mountain, Ensign Mountain’s widow, who had been a friend of Rachel Esmond in her school days, and since her widowhood had been Madame Esmond’s companion in Castlewood house, serving to enliven many dull hours for that lady and enjoying thoroughly the home which Castlewood afforded her and her child. Mrs. Mountain, I say, who was occupying the fourth seat in the family coach, said, “Humph! humph! I know you are always disturbing yourself about this legacy, and I don’t see that there is any need.”

“Oh, no! no need!” cries the widow, rustling in her silks; “of course I have no need to be disturbed, because my eldest born is a disobedient son and an unkind brother; because he has an estate, and my poor Harry, bless him, but a mess of pottage.”

George looked despairingly at his mother until he could see her no more for eyes welled up with tears. “I wish you would bless me, too, O my mother!” he said, and burst into a passionate fit of weeping. Harry’s arms were in a moment round his brother’s neck, and he kissed George a score of times.

“Never mind, George. I know whether you are a good brother or not. Don’t mind what she says. She don’t mean it.”

“I do mean it, child,” cries the mother. “Would to Heaven–“

” Hold your tongue, I say !” roars out Harry. “It’s a shame to speak so to him, ma’am.”

“And so it is, Harry,” says Mrs. Mountain, shaking his hand. “You never said a truer word in your life.”

“Mrs. Mountain, do you dare to set my children against me?” cries the widow. “From this very day, madam–“

“Turn me and my child into the street? Do,” says Mrs. Mountain. “That will be a fine revenge because the English lawyer won’t give you the boy’s money. Find another companion who will tell you black is white, and flatter you; it is not my way, madam. When shall I go? I shan’t be long a-packing. I did not bring much into Castlewood house, and I shall not take much out.”