“Upon my soul, you are too good.”

“At any rate,” said Kilcullen, “you’ll agree with me that this is no place for me to remain in.”

“You’re quite at liberty to go,” said the earl.  “You were never very ceremonious with regard to me; pray don’t begin to be so now.  Pray go—­to-night if you like.  Your mother’s heart will be broken, that’s all.”

“I trust my mother will be able to copy your lordship’s indifference.”

“Indifference!  Is sixty thousand pounds in one year, and more than double within three or four, indifference?  I have paid too much to be indifferent.  But it is hopeless to pay more.  I have no hope for you; you are ruined, and I couldn’t redeem you even if I would.  I could not set you free and tell you to begin again, even were it wise to do so; and therefore I tell you to go.  And now, good night; I have not another word to say to you,” and the earl got up as if to leave the room.

“Stop, my lord, you must listen to me,” said Kilcullen.

“Not a word further.  I have heard enough;” and he put out the candles on the book-room table, having lighted a bed candle which he held in his hand.

“Pardon me, my lord,” continued the son, standing just before his father, so as to prevent his leaving the room; “pardon me, but you must listen to what I have to say.”

“Not another word—­not another word.  Leave the door, sir, or I will ring for the servants to open it.”

“Do so,” said Kilcullen, “and they also shall hear what I have to say.  I am going to leave you to-morrow, perhaps for ever; and you will not listen to the last word I wish to speak to you?”

“I’ll stay five minutes,” said the earl, taking out his watch, “and then I’ll go; and if you attempt again to stop me, I’ll ring the bell for the servants.”

“Thank you, my lord, for the five minutes; it will be time enough.  I purpose leaving Grey Abbey to-morrow, and I shall probably be in France in three days’ time.  When there, I trust I shall cease to trouble you; but I cannot, indeed I will not go, without funds to last me till I can make some arrangement.  Your lordship must give me five hundred pounds.  I have not the means even of carrying myself from hence to Calais.”

“Not one penny.  Not one penny—­if it were to save you from the gaol to-morrow!  This is too bad!” and the earl again walked to the door, against which Lord Kilcullen leaned his back.  “By Heaven, sir, I’ll raise the house if you think to frighten me by violence!”

“I’ll use no violence, but you must hear the alternative:  if you please it, the whole house shall hear it too.  If you persist in refusing the small sum I now ask—­”

“I will not give you one penny to save you from gaol.  Is that plain?”

“Perfectly plain, and very easy to believe.  But you will give more than a penny; you would even give more than I ask, to save yourself from the annoyance you will have to undergo.”