You are astonished, Hawthorne; of course you are. I am not thus playing the hypocrite willingly, believe me. Had I only my own comfort, and my own feelings to consult, I would take my name off the college books to-morrow. How I bear the life I lead, I scarcely know." "But tell me," said I, "as you have told me so much, what is the secret of all this?" "I will; I was going to explain. My only motive for concealment, my only reason for even wishing you to keep my counsel, is, because the character and prospects of others are concerned. My father, as I dare say you know, is pretty well known as the head of the firm of Russell and Smith: he passes for a rich man, of course; he _was_ a rich man, I believe, once; and I, his only son and heir--brought up as I was to look upon money as a plaything--I was sent to college of course as a gentleman-commoner. I knew nothing, as a lad, of my father's affairs: there were fools enough to tell me he was rich, and that I had nothing to do but to spend his money--and I did spend it--ay, too much of it--yet not so much, perhaps, as I might. Not since I came here, Hawthorne; oh no!--not since I found out that it was neither his nor mine to spend--I have not been so bad as that, thank God. And if ever man could atone, by suffering, for the thoughtlessness and extravagance of early days, I have wellnigh paid my penalty in full already. I told you, I entered here as a gentleman-commoner; my father came down to Oxford with me, chose my rooms, sent down this furniture and these paintings from town--thank Heaven, I knew not what they cost--ordered a couple of hunters and a groom for me--those I stopped from coming down--and, in fact, made every preparation for me to commence my career with credit as to heir-apparent to a large fortune. Some suspicions that all was not right had crossed my mind before: certain conversations between my father and cold-looking men of business, not meant for my ear, and very imperfectly understood--for it appeared to be my father's object to keep me totally ignorant of all the mysteries of banking--an increasing tendency on his part to grumble over petty expenses which implied ready payment, with an ostentatious profusion in show and entertainments--many slight circumstances put together had given me a sort of vague alarm at times, which I shook off, as often as it recurred, like a disagreeable dream. A week after I entered college, a letter from my only sister opened my eyes to the truth. What I had feared was a temporary embarrassment--a disagreeable necessity for retrenchment, or, at the worst, a stoppage of payment, and a respectable bankruptcy, which would injure no one but the creditors. What she spoke of, was absolute ruin, poverty, and, what was worse, disgrace. It came upon me very suddenly--but I bore it. I am not going to enter into particulars about family matters to you, Hawthorne--you would not wish it, I know; let me only say, my sister Mary