“You are mistaken, uncle,” I said, good humoredly--“it is from the law that I propose to get my bread.” “Indeed!--You are even more sanguine than I thought you. But, pray, upon what do you base your expectations?--the talents, I suppose.” I felt the rankling of this well-known and offensive sneer, but replied simply to the point:-- “No, sir, upon assurances which you will probably think far more worthy of respect. I have already been employed by Mr. Edgerton as an attorney, at a salary of six hundred dollars.” “Ah, indeed! Well, you are a fortunate fellow, I must say, to get such a helping hand at the outset. But you may want some small amount to begin with--you can not draw upon Mr. Edgerton before services are rendered, and if fifty or a hundred dollars, Edward--” “I thank you, sir;--so far from wanting money, I should be almost able to lend some. I have saved some two hundred from my mercantile salary.” I enjoyed the ghastly grin which rose to his features. It was evident that he was not pleased that I should be independent. He had set out with the conviction, when my father died, that my support and education would devolve upon him, and though they did not, yet it was plain enough to me that he was not unwilling that such should be the impression of the community. I had disarmed him entirely by the simplest process, and, mortified at being disappointed, he was disposed to hate the youth who had baffled him. It was the strangest thing in the world that such should be the feeling of any man, and that, too, in reference to so near a relation; but the case is nevertheless true. I saw it in his looks that moment--I felt it in his accents. I KNEW that such was the real feeling in his soul. There are motives which grow from vanities, piques, rivalries, and the miserable ostentations of a small spirit, which act more terribly upon the passions of man, than even the desire of gain or the love of woman. The heart of Mr. Clifford, was, after its particular fashion, a blind heart, like my own. “Well, I am glad you are so well off. You will dine with us on Sunday, I suppose?” My affirmative was a matter of course; and, on Sunday, the evident gratification of Julia when she saw me, amply atoned for all her father's asperities and injustice. She had heard of my success--and though in a sneer from the lips of her father it was not the less productive of an evident delight to her. She met me with the expression of this delight upon all her features. “I am so glad, so very glad, and so surprised, too, Cousin Edward, at your success. And yet you kept it all to yourself. You might have told ME, at least, that you were studying law. Why was it that I was never allowed to know of your intention?” “Your father knew it, Julia.” “Yes, so he says now. He says you told him something about it when you first went into a store; but he did not think you in earnest.” “Not in earnest! He little knew me, Julia.”