The very first and most lasting impression made upon Lewis Pryor’s boyish mind was that a subtile difference existed between him and every other boy he had ever known in his life. At the first glance the difference would seem to have been altogether in Lewis’s favour, for he always had a plenty of pocket money, and a pony to ride, and a servant to wait on him; but, being a very healthy-natured, honest-hearted boy, he regarded these things with admirable indifference, and instinctively rated them at their true value, which was small. In fact, he came, in the course of his boyish experiences, to hate these distinctions in his favour, as he imagined sometimes that it accounted for the shyness of other boys towards him. From his very earliest recollection there had been this strange and mystifying avoidance, and the boy’s heart swelled and his eyes filled with tears whenever he thought of it. Not only was it strange, but it was cruelly undeserved, for he felt himself worthy of respect. He had never told a lie in his life, and such boyish naughtinesses as he had been guilty of were merely the ordinary lapses of impetuous young creatures. But poor Lewis was perforce a model boy, for it is tolerably hard for a boy to get in mischief by himself. Lewis, gazing with melancholy eyes at others of his own age, would feel, with a tightening at his heart, that he would cheerfully give his pony and all his fine belongings to be one with those merry, happy fellows. He remembered dimly his mother--a gentle creature who lavished tenderness upon him; his father--Thomas Pryor, the tutor--a tall, thin, spectacled man; and they all lived very quietly somewhere in the country in England. But even then he had no playmates. Then he remembered quite distinctly his father and his mother both dying, and Bulstrode and Bob Skinny being there and taking him to Skelton. Lewis was then about five years old. After that came a dreary existence of splendid suites of rooms in foreign hotels, where he and Bulstrode were usually waiting for Skelton and Bob Skinny to turn up, when they would all go on to some other splendid suite of rooms in another place, all equally dreary to the lonely boy. Bulstrode was his guardian, and was supposed to be his tutor, and Lewis did his lessons with tolerable regularity. But he had a little store of books--some old romances, dear to every boy’s heart, and some of Scott’s novels, which were coming out, and a few other imaginative books, which he devoured with insatiate delight. Sometimes, with one of these darling dog’s-eared volumes, he could be perfectly happy, lying on the rug before the fire, with his dog Service poking his cold nose affectionately into his face, or flat on his back in the summer time, with the dog on the grass near him, and the trees murmuring softly overhead. For want of other companionship he made a friend and confidant of Service; and the two would exchange queer confidences, and understood each other as only a