"What's two hundred, Dare?" slightingly spoke his lordship. "It's nothing." "It was of no use trying for more to-night. The two hundred will stop present worry, Hawkesley; the future must be provided for when it comes." And they walked on with a quicker step. Mrs. Dare had looked at her watch as they departed. It was half-past eleven. She said she supposed they might as well be going to bed, and Mr. Dare roused himself. For the last half-hour he had been half-asleep; quite asleep he did not choose to fall, in the young man's presence. A viscount to Lawyer Dare was a viscount. "Where's Herbert?" asked he, stretching himself. Master Herbert, Joseph answered, had had supper served (not being able to recover from the short allowance at dinner), and had gone to bed. The rest, excepting Adelaide, had gone before, free from want, from care, full of the good things of this life. The young Halliburtons, their cousins once removed, had knelt and thanked God for the day's good, even though that day to them had been what all their days were now, one of poverty and privation. Not so the Dares. As children, for they were not in a heathen land, they had been taught to say their prayers at night; but as they grew older, the custom was suffered to fall into disuse. The family attended church on Sundays, fashionably attired, and there ended their religion. To bed and to sleep went they, all the household, old and young--Joseph, the manservant, excepted. Sleepy Joseph stretched himself in a large chair to wait the return of Mr. Anthony: sleepy Joseph had so to stretch himself most nights. Mr. Anthony might come in in an hour's time, or Mr. Anthony might not come in until it was nearly time to commence the day's duties in the morning. It was all a chance; as poor Joseph knew to his cost. Nine o'clock was the breakfast hour at Mr. Dare's, and the family were in general pretty punctual at it. On the following morning they were all assembled at the meal, Anthony rather red about the eyes, when Ann, the housemaid, entered. "Here's a parcel for you, Mr. Anthony." She held in her arms a large untidy sort of bundle, done round with string. Anthony turned his wondering eyes upon it. "That! It can't be for me." "A boy brought it and said it was for you, sir," returned Ann, letting the cumbersome parcel fall on a chair. "I asked if there was any answer, and he said there was not." "It must be from your tailor, Anthony," said Mrs. Dare. Anthony's consequence was offended at the suggestion. "My tailor send me a parcel done up like that!" repeated he. "He had better! He would get no more of my custom." "What an extraordinary direction!" exclaimed Julia, who had got up, and drawn near, in her curiosity: "'Young Mister Antony Dare!' Just look, all of you."