A few minutes more and Lady Grange was in the arms of her brother; while
Sir Gilbert was silently grasping the hand of one whom, but for
misfortune, he would never have known as a friend.

All the neighbourhood pitied the gentle lady, the benefactress of the
poor, when she dismissed her servants, sold her jewels, and quitted
her beautiful home to seek a humbler shelter. Amongst the hundreds who
crowded to the public auction of the magnificent furniture and plate,
which had been the admiration of all who had seen them, many thought
with compassion of the late owners, reduced to such sudden poverty,
though the generosity of the lady's family had saved them from want
or dependence.

And yet truly, never since her marriage had Lady Grange been less an
object of compassion.

Her son was slowly but surely recovering, and his preservation from
meeting sudden death unprepared was to her a source of unutterable
thankfulness. Her own family appeared to regard her with even more
tender affection than if no coldness had ever arisen between them; and
their love was to her beyond price. Even Sir Gilbert's harsh, worldly
character, was somewhat softened by trials, and by the unmerited
kindness which he met with from those whom, in his prosperity, he
had slighted and shunned. Lady Grange felt that her prayers had been
answered indeed, though in a way very different from what she had hoped
or expected. The chain by which her son had been gradually drawn down
towards rum, by those who sought his company for the sake of his money,
had been suddenly snapped by the loss of his fortune. The weak youth
was left to the guidance of those to whom his welfare was really dear.