Arthur, who had always heard of the marquis as his father's old pupil, was astonished to see before him a man so aged. His father had been only fifty-five when he died, and had appeared to be a hale, strong man. The marquis seemed to be worn out with care and years, and to be one whose death might be yearly expected. His father, however, was gone; but the marquis was destined to undergo yet many more days of misery.
"I was very sorry to hear of your father's sudden death," said Lord Stapledean, in his cold, thin voice.
"It was very sudden, my lord," said Arthur, shuddering.
"Ah—yes; he was not a prudent man;—always too fond of strong wine."
"He was always a temperate man," said the son, rather disgusted.
"That is, he never got drunk. I dare say not. As a parish clergyman, it was not likely that he should. But he was an imprudent man in his manner of living—very."
Arthur remained silent, thinking it better to say nothing further on the subject.
"I suppose he has not left his family well provided for?"
"Not very well, my lord. There is something—and I have a fellowship."
"Something!" said the marquis, with almost a sneer. "How much is this something?" Whereupon Arthur told his lordship exactly the extent of his mother's means.