“You never were in my circumstances,” returned Darvil, gloomily. “I was a gentleman’s son. Come, you shall hear my story. My father was well-born, but married a maid-servant when he was at college; his family disowned him, and left him to starve. He died in the struggle against a poverty he was not brought up to, and my dam went into service again; became housekeeper to an old bachelor--sent me to school--but mother had a family by the old bachelor, and I was taken from school and put to trade. All hated me--for I was ugly; damn them! Mother cut me--I wanted money--robbed the old bachelor--was sent to gaol, and learned there a lesson or two how to rob better in future. Mother died,--I was adrift on the world. The world was my foe--could not make it up with the world, so we went to war;--you understand, old boy? Married a poor woman and pretty;--wife made me jealous--had learned to suspect every one. Alice born--did not believe her mine: not like me--perhaps a gentleman’s child. I hate--I loathe gentlemen. Got drunk one night--kicked my wife in the stomach three weeks after her confinement. Wife died--tried for my life--got off. Went to another county--having had a sort of education, and being sharp eno’, got work as a mechanic. Hated work just as I hated gentlemen--for was I not by blood a gentleman? There was the curse. Alice grew up; never looked on her as my flesh and blood. Her mother was a w----! Why should not _she_ be one? There, that’s enough. Plenty of excuse, I think, for all I have ever done. Curse the world--curse the rich--curse the handsome--curse--curse all!” “You have been a very foolish man,” said the banker; “and seem to me to have had very good cards, if you had known how to play them. However, that is your lookout. It is not yet too late to repent; age is creeping on you.--Man, there is another world.” The banker said the last words with a tone of solemn and even dignified adjuration. “You think so--do you?” said Darvil, staring at him. “From my soul I do.” “Then you are not the sensible man I took you for,” replied Darvil, drily; “and I should like to talk to you on that subject.” But our Dives, however sincere a believer, was by no means one “At whose control Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul.” He had words of comfort for the pious, but he had none for the sceptic--he could soothe, but he could not convert. It was not in his way; besides, he saw no credit in making a convert of Luke Darvil. Accordingly, he again rose with some quickness, and said: “No, sir; that is useless, I fear, and I have no time to spare; and so once more good night to you.” “But you have not arranged where my allowance is to be sent.” “Ah! true; I will guarantee it. You will find my name sufficient security.”