nst
a neighbouring farmer, who had reported to the school authorities the
doings of a few beagles upon his land, Charles had cut off the heads
of all the trees in a young fir plantation,--his father was proud of
the exploit. When he was rusticated a second time from Trinity, and
when the father received an intimation that his son's name had better
be taken from the College books, the squire was not so well pleased;
but even then he found some delight in the stories which reached him
of his son's vagaries; and when the young man commenced Bohemian life
in London, his father did nothing to restrain him. Then there came
the old story--debts, endless debts; and lies, endless lies. During
the two years before his death, his father paid for him, or undertook
to pay, nearly ten thousand pounds, sacrificing the life assurances
which were to have made provision for his daughter; sacrificing, to a
great extent, his own life income,--sacrificing everything, so that
the property might not be utterly ruined at his death. That Charles
Amedroz should be a brighter, greater man than any other Amedroz,
had still been the father's pride. At the last visit which Charles
had paid to Belton his father had called upon him to pledge himself
solemnly that his sister should not be made to suffer by what had
been done for him. Within a month of that time he had blown his
brains out in his London lodgings, thus making over the entire
property to Will Belton at his father's death. At that last pretended
settlement with his father and his father's lawyer, he had kept back
the mention of debts as heavy nearly as those to which he had owned;
and there were debts of honour, too, of which he had not spoken,
trusting to the next event at Newmarket to set him right. The next
event at Newmarket had set him more wrong than ever, and so there had
come an end to everything with Charles Amedroz.

This had happened in the spring, and the afflicted father,--afflicted
with the double sorrow of his son's terrible death and his daughter's
ruin,--had declared that he would turn his face to the wall and die.
But the old squire's health, though far from strong, was stronger
than he had deemed it, and his feelings, sharp enough, were less
sharp than he had thought them; and when a month had passed by, he
had discovered that it would be better that he should live, in order
that his daughter might still have bread to eat and a house of her
own over her head. Though he