The Colonel exploded. "Sir, I wonder at your impudence. See Mrs. Pompley! Hush, sir, hush!--hold your tongue. I have disowned your connection. I will not have my wife--a woman, sir, of the first family--disgraced by it. Yes; you need not fire up. John Pompley is not a man to be bullied in his own house. I say disgraced. Did not you run into debt, and spend your fortune? Did not you marry a low creature--a vulgarian--a tradesman's daughter? and your poor father such a respectable man--a beneficed clergyman! Did not you sell your commission? Heaven knows what became of the money! Did not you turn (I shudder to say it) a common stage-player, sir? And then, when you were on your last legs, did I not give you £200 out of my own purse to go to Canada? And now here you are again--and ask me, with a coolness that--that takes away my breath--takes away--my breath, sir--to provide for the child you have thought proper to have; a child, whose connections on the mother's side are of the most abject and discreditable condition. Leave my house, leave it--good heavens, sir, not that way--this." And the Colonel opened the glass-door that led into the garden. "I will let you out this way. If Mrs. Pompley should see you!" And with that thought the Colonel absolutely hooked his arm into his poor relation's, and hurried him into the garden. Mr. Digby said not a word, but he struggled ineffectually to escape from the Colonel's arm; and his color went and came, came and went, with a quickness that showed that in those shrunken veins there were still some drops of a soldier's blood. But the Colonel had now reached a little postern-door in the garden wall. He opened the latch, and thrust out his poor cousin. Then, looking down the lane, which was long, straight, and narrow, and seeing it was quite solitary, his eye fell upon the forlorn man, and remorse shot through his heart. For a moment the hardest of all kinds of avarice, that of the _genteel_, relaxed its gripe. For a moment the most intolerant of all forms of pride, that which is based upon false pretenses, hushed its voice, and the Colonel hastily drew out his purse. "There," said he--"that is all I can do for you. Do leave the town as quick as you can, and don't mention your name to any one. Your father was such a respectable man--beneficed clergyman!" "And paid for your commission, Mr. Pompley. My name!--I am not ashamed of it. But do not fear I shall claim your relationship. No; I am ashamed of _you_!" The poor cousin put aside the purse, still stretched toward him, with a scornful hand, and walked firmly down the lane. Colonel Pompley stood irresolute. At that moment a window in his house was thrown open. He heard the noise, turned round, and saw his wife looking out. Colonel Pompley sneaked back through the shrubbery, hiding himself among the trees. CHAPTER X.