"Urged to it by his necessities, I conclude," put in Mr. Carlyle.

"He had no business to have such necessities, sir," cried the earl, wrathfully. "But let us proceed to business. What money is there lying at his banker's, Mr. Warburton? Do you know?"

"None," was the blank reply. "We overdrew the account ourselves, a fortnight ago, to meet one of his pressing liabilities. We hold a little; and, had he lived a week or two longer, the autumn rents would have been paid in--though they must have been as quickly paid out again."

"I'm glad there's something. What is the amount?"

"My lord," answered Mr. Warburton, shaking his head in a self- condoling manner, "I am sorry to tell you that what we hold will not half satisfy our own claims; money actually paid out of our pockets."

"Then where on earth is the money to come from, sir? For the funeral-- for the servants' wages--for everything, in fact?"

"There is none to come from anywhere," was the reply of Mr. Warburton.

Lord Mount Severn strode the carpet more fiercely. "Wicked improvidence! Shameful profligacy; callous-hearted man! To live a rogue and die a beggar--leaving his daughter to the charity of strangers!"