Miss Gastonguay's face showed uncontrollable emotion. No one in Rossignol but this young man would have dared mention the name of this brother to her. Years ago he had been cast off by his family as an incorrigible black sheep. It was not known what had become of him. His name had been dropped, and even in gossiping Rossignol there were many people who did not know of his existence. She tried to rise and fling herself from the room, but she found herself trembling so violently that she was obliged to sit still to gather strength. "Your brother Louis," pursued Justin, in measured tones, "named from the founder of the house." "A villain,--a scoundrel," muttered Miss Gastonguay, flashing him a furious glance,--"a disgrace to the name, a boy that should have been strangled in his cradle." "But never by the hand of his sister," murmured Justin, with a strange softening of his tone, "his little sister Jane, whom he loved." Miss Gastonguay turned fiercely on him. "Young man, what are you talking about? What do you know of this affair? Have some of your strict Puritans been telling you to discipline a victim many years your senior, by tearing open this old sore?" "No, no,--Miss Gastonguay, hear me patiently. I have a message to you from this brother." "I will not hear it--" and her stern face grew sterner. Justin sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "Let me recapitulate,--you remember my father, Sylvester Mercer--" "Open that window, will you?" interrupted Miss Gastonguay, "this room is stifling." Justin hastily threw up one of the glass sashes, and allowed the cool river wind to blow into the room. Was the stoical maiden lady about to faint? He judged not, and therefore continued his sentence. "My father, who was cashier of this bank before me--" "And worth half a dozen young prigs like yourself," mumbled Miss Gastonguay, as she mopped her face with her handkerchief. "I liked him--" "I know you do not care for me nor for my mother," said Justin, firmly, "yet I also know that, honest as you try to be, words are sometimes but disguises for your thoughts." "Therefore, when I say I hate you, you know I love you," observed Miss Gastonguay, ironically. The fresh air had revived her, and she felt mistress of herself again. Justin smiled. "No, I know better than that; however, let me proceed. When I was a lad, my father, finding that I did not care for study, had me enter this bank where I could be trained under his supervision." "You'll never be as clever as he was," observed Miss Gastonguay, grimly. "Granted," said Justin, with a slight inclination of his head. "You cannot say any good thing about my father that my heart will not echo. I loved him, and revere his memory. You will perhaps remember that, beside being a man of business, he was foremost in the charitable work of the town--" "Yes, yes; I remember. What are you boring me with all this for?"