Bah! it's a dreddfle thing to hear a man crying! his pashn torn up from the very roots of his heart, as it must be before it can git such a vent. My lord, meanwhile, rolled his segar, lighted it, and went on. “My dear boy, the girl has not a shilling. I wished to have left you alone in peace, with your four thousand pounds: you might have lived decently upon it in Germany, where money is at 5 per cent, where your duns would not find you, and a couple of hundred a year would have kept you and your wife in comfort. But, you see, Lady Crabs would not listen to it. You had injured her; and, after she had tried to kill you and failed, she determined to ruin you, and succeeded. I must own to you that I directed the arresting business, and put her up to buying your protested bills: she got them for a trifle, and as you have paid them, has made a good two thousand pounds by her bargain. It was a painful thing to be sure, for a father to get his son arrested; but que voulez-vous! I did not appear in the transaction: she would have you ruined; and it was absolutely necessary that YOU should marry before I could, so I pleaded your cause with Miss Griffin, and made you the happy man you are. You rogue, you rogue! you thought to match your old father, did you? But, never mind; lunch will be ready soon. In the meantime, have a segar, and drink a glass of Sauterne.” Deuceace, who had been listening to this speech, sprung up wildly. “I'll not believe it,” he said: “it's a lie, an infernal lie! forged by you, you hoary villain, and by the murderess and strumpet you have married. I'll not believe it; show me the will. Matilda! Matilda!” shouted he, screaming hoarsely, and flinging open the door by which she had gone out. “Keep your temper, my boy. You ARE vexed, and I feel for you: but don't use such bad language: it is quite needless, believe me.” “Matilda!” shouted out Deuceace again; and the poor crooked thing came trembling in, followed by Miss Kicksey. “Is this true, woman?” says he, clutching hold of her hand. “What, dear Algernon?” says she. “What?” screams out Deuceace,--“what? Why that you are a beggar, for marrying without your mother's consent--that you basely lied to me, in order to bring about this match--that you are a swindler, in conspiracy with that old fiend yonder and the she-devil his wife?” “It is true,” sobbed the poor woman, “that I have nothing; but--” “Nothing but what? Why don't you speak, you drivelling fool?” “I have nothing!--but you, dearest, have two thousand a year. Is that not enough for us? You love me for myself, don't you, Algernon? You have told me so a thousand times--say so again, dear husband; and do not, do not be so unkind.” And here she sank on her knees, and clung to him, and tried to catch his hand, and kiss it. “How much did you say?” says my lord. “Two thousand a year, sir; he has told us so a thousand times.”