So; poverty at home, and debts abroad,
  My present fortune bad; my hopes yet worse! 
  What will become of me? 
  SOUTHERON’S ISABELLA.

The gentleman who had supposed himself the next heir to the entailed property, vacant by the demise of Admiral De Courcy, and whose hasty visit and departure from Hall we have mentioned in a previous chapter, was a third cousin of the deceased.  His history is short.  He had squandered away the personal property left him by his father; and his family estate, which was of greater extent than value, was mortgaged for even more than it was worth.  He had lately subsisted by borrowing large sums of money at exorbitant interest, upon the expectancy of succeeding to the property of Admiral De Courcy.  The result of his visit to the hall was, therefore, unsatisfactory in more ways than one; and before he had arrived at his own residence, his obsequious little friend in black had reminded him of certain bonds which were in his possession, and assumed a tone and demeanour towards his client very different from that in which he had addressed the supposed inheritor of the large property of D –­; intimating in very plain terms that some speedy arrangement must be made.

Rainscourt, who had nothing left except the old castle on his property at Galway, his manorial rights, and the unbounded attachment and devotion of the wild tenants, who looked upon him as their feudal chieftain, felt convinced that he had no resource but to escape from his numerous creditors, who would not hesitate to put him in durance, and whose impatience had been with difficulty restrained until the death of the admiral.  The speedy arrangement upon which he determined was, to set off immediately for Ireland, and, by regaining his castle, defy legal authority, ­if there could be found any that would be rash enough to attempt his person, when encircled by his lawless retainers.

As he descended from the chaise, at the handsomely furnished lodgings, in the west end of the metropolis, which he had engaged, his companion informed him, with a haughty air, that he would have the honour of paying his respects on the ensuing noon; while Rainscourt, with his usual indifference to money, dismissed the post boys with a handsome gratuity, although there were not many guineas left in his purse; and then proceeded up to the drawing room, on the first-floor, where his wife and only daughter were anxiously awaiting his arrival.

Mrs Rainscourt, still a fine and elegant woman, had, in her youth, been remarkable for her great personal attractions; and for two seasons, had been considered as the belle of the Irish metropolis.  She was, at that period, a high-spirited and generous-minded girl, easily provoked, and as easily appeased ­proud of her beauty and her accomplishments, which her worldly-minded parents were in hopes would be bartered for a coronet.  Rainscourt was also, at that time, one of the handsomest, if not the handsomest man in Ireland, with the advantage of polished manners, talent, and ancient birth.  Received and courted in every society, he was as indefatigable in squandering away his property as the parents of Mrs Rainscourt were in trying to obtain an advantageous establishment for their daughter.  Rainscourt was proud and overbearing in disposition:  vain, to excess, of his personal advantages, he considered himself irresistible with the other sex.  He had seen and admired his future spouse; but still, as he required an alliance which would enable him to indulge in his extravagance, and as her parents were aware that Rainscourt was, or would soon be, a ruined man, in all probability they would never have come in contact, but have rolled in different orbits, more consonant to their views and their happiness, had it not occurred that, at a large and convivial party, Rainscourt’s vanity had been piqued by his companions, who told him that he never could obtain the hand of Miss –­, whose parents aspired to a higher connection.  Piqued at this remark, and flushed with the wine that had been freely circulated, he offered to stake a considerable sum that he would succeed before a certain allotted time.  The wager was accepted.  Rainscourt courted without affection:  and, by his assiduities and feigned attachment, ultimately succeeded in persuading the fond girl to destroy all the golden visions of her parent, and resign herself to his arms, where he assured her that competence and love would be found more than commensurate to a coronet and neglect.

They eloped; all Dublin was in an uproar for three days.  Rainscourt received the amount of his bet, and the congratulations of his friends, and for a short time he and his wife lived together without any serious fracas.  The first that occurred proceeded from an anonymous letter, evidently written by some envious and disappointed female, acquainting Mrs Rainscourt with all the circumstances attending the bet, to which she had been sacrificed.  This mortifying news was received with showers of tears, and some upbraiding; for Mrs Rainscourt really loved her husband; and although patched up by Rainscourt’s protestations, as to the falsehood of the accusation, it sunk deep into her heart, and was but the forerunner of future misery.

Rainscourt soon became tired of a woman whom he had never loved; cursed his own vanity, that had induced him to saddle himself with such an encumbrance as a wife; and by alternate violence and moroseness, irritated her feelings, and roused her spirit.  Neglect on his part produced indifference on her side; and as the means of gaiety and expense melted away, so did all respect and esteem for each other.

An extravagant man seldom makes a good husband; he becomes embarrassed, and his circumstances prey upon his mind, and sour his temper.  A woman who has, before marriage, been the admiration of the metropolis, is not very likely to prove a good wife.  She still sighs for the adulation that she received, and which, from habit, has become necessary to her, and would exact from the man for whom she has given up the world, all the attention that she has lost by the sacrifice.

Mr and Mrs Rainscourt were joined ­but they were not one.  Like many others in this world of error, their marriage might be typified by a vial, of which one half had been filled with oil, and the other with water, having a cork in its mouth, which confined them, and forced them to remain in contact, although they refused to unite.  The fruit of this marriage was one daughter, now about six years old.

“Well, Mr Rainscourt, all is well, I hope; and may I not kiss my daughter, and congratulate her upon being one of the largest heiresses in the kingdom.”

“You may, if you please, madam.”

“May, if I please?  Why, is it not so, Mr Rainscourt?” replied the lady, startled at the moody brow of her husband, as he threw himself on the sofa.

Now, Rainscourt would not have so immediately answered the question, but he was determined that his spouse should participate in those pangs of disappointment which swelled his own breast; as a partner of all his joys, she was, of course, fully entitles to an equal proportion of his cares.

“No, madam ­it is not so.”

“Surely you are trifling with me, Mr Rainscourt:  is not the admiral dead?”

“Yes, madam, and his grandchild is alive.”

“His grandchild!” cried the lady in alto, pallid with vexation and disappointment.  “Well, Mr Rainscourt, this is another specimen of your usual prudence and foresight.  What man in his senses would not have ascertained such a fact, previous to squandering away his whole property, and leaving his daughter a beggar?”

“I think, madam, if the property has been squandered, as you term it, that you have assisted me in so doing; at all events, the property was my own; for I cannot exactly recollect that you increased it one shilling when I married you.”

“Certainly, not much, Mr Rainscourt, except, indeed, the amount of the bet.  I consider that as my marriage portion,” replied the lady with a sneer.

“Never made a worse bet in my life,” replied the gentleman, throwing his legs upon the sofa.

“Perhaps not,” replied his wife, with offended seriousness; “but recollect, Mr Rainscourt, that you have no one to blame but yourself ­you were not deceived.  I might have been happy ­might have met with sincerity and reciprocal affection.  Your conduct towards me was an act of cruelty, which would have called forth some compunction in the breast of my bitterest enemy; and yet, unoffending, I was heartlessly sacrificed to your vanity.”

“Say, rather, to your own, which blinded you, or you would have been able to discriminate better.”

Mrs Rainscourt burst into tears.  Before her emotion could be controlled, her husband, who was hardened to these scenes of alternate anger and grief, either was, or pretended to be, in a sound sleep.

The little girl had nestled close to her mother at the ebullition of her feelings, and waited in silence until it was exhausted.

“Why, mamma, I thought you said we should be so happy now.”

“Did I, my dear?” replied Mrs Rainscourt, mournfully.

“Yes, you did, and told me that we should have a fine house in London, and that we should not go back to the old castle again.  I was sorry for that, though.  Where shall we go now, mamma?”

“God knows, my child; you must ask your father.”

“Papa’s asleep, and I must not wake him.  I do hope we shall go back to the castle.”

“Then you’ll have your wish, my love,” replied Mr Rainscourt, rousing up, “for I start this very evening.”

“Are we to go with you, Mr Rainscourt?” asked Mrs Rainscourt, calmly; “or are we to be left here?”

“As you please; but I must be off, for that little scoundrel T –­, threatened me with a visit to-morrow morning as I got out of the chaise, and I am aware that he will not come without a companion or two.”

“T –!  What T –? your friend T –! that you brought from Dublin with you, and who professes so much admiration and esteem ­your own factotum?”

“Yes, my own factotum ­snivelling little scoundrel.  But, however, there’s not time to be lost.  You have some jewels, my dear, and other articles of value; you had better pack them up, and consign them to me as soon as possible.  You may then take your choice, ­go with me now, or follow me in a day or two.  They cannot arrest you.”

“I am aware of that, Mr Rainscourt,” replied the lady; “but as I may not have the means of following, my daughter and I will, if you please, become a part of your travelling incumbrance, as well as the jewels and other articles of value.”

“Be it so,” replied the gentleman, who perfectly understood her sarcastic meaning, but did not think it advisable to retort at the moment; “One post-chaise will carry us all; but we must leave town at twelve o’clock this night.  If I recollect right, we are asked to a rout at Lady G –­’s?”

“We are; but pray, Mr Rainscourt, how am I to get ready so soon?  The servants must be paid ­all the bills must be called in.”

“If you wait until I can pay all the bills, you must wait till eternity, perhaps.  Pack up everything that is portable, without the knowledge of the servants; your jewels you can have upon your own person, or in a pocket, if you ever wear one.  Order the carriage ­dress, and we will both go to the rout.  I shall leave word with Roberts to bring me any letters which may be sent, telling him that the admiral is not dead yet, although hourly expected ­nothing has transpired to the contrary.  I can slip away from the rout, and write the letter myself, which I will send by a porter.  When I go home, and the chaise which I shall order is at the door, I will put Emily in it, and call for you at Lady G’s.  The servants may suspect something, but it will then be too late.”

Danger will unite those who are at variance.  Mrs R entered readily into the proposed arrangements, which necessity imposed upon them, and in a few hours, father, mother, and daughter were on their way to Ireland, leaving the house-rent, butcher’s, baker’s, chandler’s and all other bills, of no trifling sum total, to be paid at some more favourable opportunity.  The servants indemnified themselves as well as they could, by seizing what was left, and cursing the elopers; and the obsequious little gentleman in black vowed vengeance as he quitted the deserted mansion, to which he had paid his promised visit in the morning, with a particular friend or two, to enforce his arguments with Mr Rainscourt.