The general, recollecting the geography of the house, observed that she had not shown them what used to be the picture-gallery, which looked out on the terrace; he desired to see it. She reluctantly obeyed; and, after trying sundry impossible keys, repeating all the while that her heart was broke, that she wished it had pleased God never to give her a heart, unlock the door she could not in her trepidation. Beauclerc gently took the keys from her, and looked so compassionately upon her, that she God-blessed him, and thought it a pity her young lord was not like him; and while he dealt with the lock, Lady Cecilia, saying they would trouble her no further, slipped into her hand what she thought would be some comfort. The poor old creature thanked her ladyship, but said gold could be of no use to her now in life; she should soon let the parish bury her, and be no cost to the young lord. She could forgive many things, she said, but she could never forgive him for parting with the old pictures. She turned away as the gallery-door opened. One only old daub of a grandmother was there; all the rest had been sold, and their vacant places remained discoloured on the walls. There were two or three dismembered old chairs, the richly dight windows broken, the floor rat-eaten. The general stood and looked, and did not sigh, but absolutely groaned. They went to the shattered glass door, which looked out upon the terrace--that terrace which had cost thousands of pounds to raise, and he called Cecilia to show her the place where the youngsters used to play, and to point out some of his favourite haunts. “It is most melancholy to see a family-place so gone to ruin,” said Beauclerc; “if it strikes us so much, what must it be to the son of this family, to come back to the house of his ancestors, and find it thus desolate! Poor Beltravers!” The expression of the general’s eye changed. “I am sure you must pity him, my dear general,” continued Beauclerc. “I might, had he done any thing to prevent, or had he done less to hasten, this ruin.” “How? he should not have cut down the trees, do you mean?--but it was to pay his father’s debts----” “And his own,” said the general. “He told me his father’s, sir.” “And I tell you his own.” “Even so,” said Beauclerc, “debts are not crimes for which we ought to shut the gates of mercy on our fellow-creatures--and so young a man as Beltravers, left to himself, without a home, his family abroad, no parent, no friend--no guardian friend.” “But what is it you would do, Beauclerc?” said the general. “What you must wish to be done,” said Beauclerc. “Repair this ruin, restore this once hospitable mansion, and put it in the power of the son to be what his ancestors have been.” “But how--my dear Beauclerc? Tell me plainly--how?” “Plainly, I would lend him money enough to make this house fit to live in.” “And he would never repay you, and would never live in it.” “He would, sir--he promised me he would.” “Promised you!”