g."

Mr. Havisham handed him the money. It was in fresh, clean greenbacks and
made a neat roll.

Ceddie flew out of the room with it.

"Bridget!" they heard him shout, as he tore into the kitchen. "Bridget,
wait a minute! Here's some money. It's for you, and you can pay the
rent. My grandpapa gave it to me. It's for you and Michael!"

"Oh, Master Ceddie!" cried Bridget, in an awe-stricken voice. "It's
twinty-foive dollars is here. Where be's the misthress?"

"I think I shall have to go and explain it to her," Mrs. Errol said.

So she, too, went out of the room and Mr. Havisham was left alone for
a while. He went to the window and stood looking out into the street
reflectively. He was thinking of the old Earl of Dorincourt, sitting
in his great, splendid, gloomy library at the castle, gouty and lonely,
surrounded by grandeur and luxury, but not really loved by any one,
because in all his long life he had never really loved any one but
himself; he had been selfish and self-indulgent and arrogant and
passionate; he had cared so much for the Earl of Dorincourt and his
pleasures that there had been no time for him to think of other people;
all his wealth and power, all the benefits from his noble name and high
rank, had seemed to him to be things only to be used to amuse and give
pleasure to the Earl of Dorincourt; and now that he was an old man, all
this excitement and self-indulgence had only brought him ill health and
irritability and a dislike of the world, which certainly disliked him.
In spite of all his splendor, there was never a more unpopular old
nobleman than the Earl of Dorincourt, and there could scarcely have been
a more lonely one. He could fill his castle with guests if he chose. He
could give great dinners and splendid hunting parties; but he knew that
in secret the people who would accept his invitations were afraid of his
frowning old face and sarcastic, biting speeches. He had a cruel tongue
and a bitter nature, and he took pleasure in sneering at people and
making them feel uncomfortable, when he had the power to do so, because
they were sensitive or proud or timid.

Mr. Havisham knew his hard, fierce ways by heart, and he was thinking
of him as he looked out of the window into the narrow, quiet street. And
there rose in his mind, in sharp contrast, the picture of the cheery,
handsome little fellow sitting in the big chair and telling his story of
his friends, Dick and the apple-woman, in his gene