“Ah, Sir! that is the worst part of it.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you, Sir. He was ruined. He gave up all. He hadn’t a penny left. He went out of the Hall and lived for a short time in a small house at the other end of the village. At last he spent what little money he had left, and they all got sick. You wouldn’t believe what happened after that.”
“What was it?”
“They were all taken to the alms-house.”
A burst of thunder seemed to sound in Brandon’s ears as he heard this, which he had never even remotely imagined. The tailor was occupied with his own thoughts, and did not notice the wildness that for an instant appeared in Brandon’s eyes. The latter for a moment felt paralyzed and struck down into nothingness by the shock of that tremendous intelligence.
“The people felt dreadfully about it,” continued the tailor, “but they couldn’t do any thing. It was Potts who had the family taken to the alms-house. Nobody dared to interfere.”
“Did none of the county families do anything?” said Brandon, who at last, by a violent effort, had regained his composure.
“No. They had all been insulted by the old man, so now they let him suffer.”
“Had he no old friends, or even acquaintances?”