Happily for him, he had just enough sense left, and had been sufficiently humiliated, to perceive that he could not escape the necessity of devouring this unpalatable piece of humble pie, and that the only choice left him was a choice of bitters. The false manliness which he had been diligently cultivating had vanished into thin air, and something of the child's spirit, so long despised, was coming back to him,--the longing for the sound of a familiar voice, and the touch of a tender hand. Even Aunt Temperance would have received, just then, a welcome which might have astonished her. But it showed the character of the women of his family that in this emergency Aubrey's thoughts scarcely touched his mother, and dwelt longingly on his grandmother and his Aunt Edith. The wise Countess waited quietly till Aubrey's meditations had taken time to settle themselves into resolution. "Madam, I thank your Ladyship," he said at last, as he looked up, with an expression which had not dwelt for many a month in his eyes. "I think I perceive now how matters stand. Suffer me to say that I never knew, until now, how foolish I have been. Under your Ladyship's leave, I will take your kindly counsel, and seek aid of Mr Marshall. I would like to see them again." His voice faltered as the last words were spoken. "So will you do well," said the Countess, more kindly than before. "All is not yet lost, Mr Louvaine. You have been foolish, but there is time before you wherein you may be wise." Aubrey bowed, took his leave, and went to his own room, where he filled his pockets with a few immediate necessaries and what little money he had. It was hard to bear, this going forth into the wilderness, not at God's call, but as the consequence of his own folly--Egypt left behind, and no Canaan in prospect. He must take leave of none save Lady Oxford--must appear to none to be what he was--a homeless fugitive with his life in his hand. As he came down-stairs, he was met in the hall by the same page who had previously summoned him. "My Lady would speak a word with you in her cabinet ere you walk forth." Aubrey found Lady Oxford at her desk, busied with household accounts, and a little pile of gold beside her. When she had reminded him that she was not rich, she had spoken very truly. That deceased husband of hers, as wanting in reason in his age as in his youth, having reduced the great Vere estates to almost nothing, his second wife, the Countess Elizabeth, and her young son Earl Henry, had to sustain the dignity of the House upon a very insufficient number of gold pieces. Twenty months had elapsed since the death of Earl Edward, and the excellent management and strict economy of the widowed Countess had done something to retrieve the ruined fortunes of the family, but much still remained to do. Lady Oxford glanced up at Aubrey as he entered.