"What do you mean, sir?" demanded the earl, in a strong tone of aristocratical pride; for there was a sort of sneer upon the countenance of Mr. Tims, which he did not at all admire, coupled with the mention of his rich nephew--and here, be it remarked, that it made a great difference in Lord Ashborough's estimation, whether the person spoken of was a rich or a poor nephew. He had a sort of indescribable loathing toward poverty, or rather toward poor people, which was only increased by their being his relations. He hated poverty--he could not bear it--in his eyes it was a disease--a pestilence--a vice; and therefore--although had his nephew been poor, Mr. Tims might have sneered at him to all eternity--as he was rich, Lord Ashborough felt very indignant at the least want of reverence toward him. The tone in which he demanded, "What do you mean, sir?" frightened Mr. Tims, who hastened to reply, that he had heard from his respected and respectable relative, in the country, that the Mr. Burrel, who had proposed to lend the money to Sir Sidney Delaware, was now continually at Emberton Park; and that it was very well understood in the country that he was to be married immediately to Miss Delaware. Lord Ashborough gazed in the face of the lawyer with that mingled look of vacancy and horror which we may picture to ourselves on the countenance of a person suddenly blinded by lightning. When he had collected his senses, it was but to give way to a more violent burst of rage, and with clenched hands and teeth, he stamped about the office of the attorney, till the clerks in the outer room began to think that he was breaking the hard head of their master against the floor. A few words, however, served to give vocal vent to his fury. "The hypocritical, artful, despicable race of beggarly fortune-hunters!" he exclaimed; and turning out of Mr. Tims's office, impelled by the sole impetus of passion, he was standing by his horse almost ere the attorney knew he was gone. The groom held the stirrup tight, and Lord Ashborough had his foot on the iron, when cooler thoughts returned, and, walking back to the chambers, he again entered the lawyer's room. "Do all that you proposed, Mr. Tims," he said; "get the bills--retard the payment--arrest the old reptile--manage it so that he may not get bail; and the day you lodge him in the King's Bench--if it can be done--you receive a draft for a thousand pounds. They must be crushed, Mr. Tims," he continued, grasping him tight by the arm; "they must be crushed--ground down into the earth--till their very name be forgotten;--but mark me," he added, speaking through his set teeth--"mark me--if you let them escape, my whole agency and business goes to another forever."