f his God; for there is deep truth in
the declaration of the apostle, that the covetous man is _an idolater_.
It was this miserable love of gold which had induced Sir Gilbert to
break with the family of his wife, and separate her from those to whom
her loving heart still clung with the fondest affection. Lady Grange
yearned for a sight of her early home; but gold had raised a barrier
between her and the companions of her childhood. And what had the
possession of gold done for the man who made it his idol? It had put
snares in the path of his only son; it had made the weak-minded but
head-strong youth be entrapped by the wicked for the sake of his wealth,
as the ermine is hunted down for its rich fur. It had given to himself
heavy responsibilities, for which he would have to answer at the bar of
Heaven; for from him unto whom much has been given, much at the last day
will be required.

Yes, Lady Grange was very miserable. And how did she endeavour
to lighten the burden of her misery? Was it by counting over her
jewels,--looking at the costly and beautiful things which adorned her
dwelling,--thinking of her carriages and horses and glittering plate, or
the number of her rich and titled friends? No; she sought comfort where
Widow Green had sought it when her child lay dangerously ill, and there
was neither a loaf on her shelf nor a penny in her purse. The rich lady
did what the poor one had done,--she fell on her knees and with tears
poured out her heart to the merciful Father of all. She told him her
sorrows, she told him her fears; she asked him for that help which she
so much required. Her case was a harder one than the widow's. A visit
from the clergyman, a present from a benevolent friend, God's blessing
on a simple remedy, had soon changed Mrs. Green's sorrow into joy.
The anguish of Lady Grange lay deeper; her faith was more sorely tried;
her fears were not for the bodies but the souls of those whom she
loved;--and where is the mortal who can give us a cure for the disease
of sin?

While his mother was weeping and praying, Philip was revelling and
drinking. Fast were the bottles pushed round, and often were the glasses
refilled. The stately banqueting-room resounded with laughter and
merriment; and as the evening advanced, with boisterous song. It was
late before the young men quitted the table; and then, heated with wine,
they threw the window wide open, to let the freshness of the night air
cool their fevered te