"He was Bridget's husband, who had the fever," answered Fauntleroy; "and
he couldn't pay the rent or buy wine and things. And you gave me that
money to help him."

The Earl drew his brows together into a curious frown, which somehow was
scarcely grim at all. He glanced across at Mr. Mordaunt.

"I don't know what sort of landed proprietor he will make," he said.
"I told Havisham the boy was to have what he wanted--anything he
wanted--and what he wanted, it seems, was money to give to beggars."

"Oh! but they weren't beggars," said Fauntleroy eagerly. "Michael was a
splendid bricklayer! They all worked."

"Oh!" said the Earl, "they were not beggars. They were splendid
bricklayers, and bootblacks, and apple-women."

He bent his gaze on the boy for a few seconds in silence. The fact was
that a new thought was coming to him, and though, perhaps, it was not
prompted by the noblest emotions, it was not a bad thought. "Come here,"
he said, at last.

Fauntleroy went and stood as near to him as possible without encroaching
on the gouty foot.

"What would YOU do in this case?" his lordship asked.

It must be confessed that Mr. Mordaunt experienced for the moment a
curious sensation. Being a man of great thoughtfulness, and having spent
so many years on the estate of Dorincourt, knowing the tenantry, rich