“General St. George, I will be frank with you,” he said. “There was never any love lost between Lionel Dering and myself. However deeply shocked I might be that such a foul crime should be laid to his charge, however strong might be my belief in his innocence, I could not—no, I could not—go near him when he lay in prison. He wanted no help or advice from me. He would not have thanked me for proffering them. I would not play the hypocrite’s part, and I did not go near him.” “Your candour is really refreshing,” answered the General. “Since you have no tidings to give me of my nephew, I am sorry to have brought you so far from home. If you will accept this little cheque in payment of your expenses, I shall esteem it a favour.” Kester came a step or two nearer and held out his hands appealingly. “Uncle—are we to part in this way?” he said, not without a ring of pathos in his voice. “And why should we not part in this way, Mr. St. George?” “I know, sir, that I was never a favourite, with you,” answered Kester, bitterly. “I know that I can never hope to stand as high in your regards as my cousin Lionel stood; but I did not know till this moment that I should ever be insulted by an offer such as the one you have just made me. I did not know till now that I should be dismissed like the veriest stranger that ever crossed your threshold!” Not a muscle of General St. George’s face stirred in answer to this appeal: the hard, cold light in his eyes never wavered for a moment. He distrusted his nephew thoroughly, and he dealt with him as he would have dealt with a wily Asiatic. “If you feel that my offer of a cheque is an insult,” he said, “I retract the insult by replacing the cheque in my pocket. As regards treating you like a stranger, I have no intention of doing that, although I might just remind you that you and I are, in fact, very little more than strangers to each other. Still, I do not forget that you are my nephew. I asked you to come and see me, in the expectation that you would be able to give me some tidings of Lionel Dering, just as I should have sent for Lionel Dering in the expectation that he would have been able to give me some tidings of you, had your position and his been reversed. You have not been able to give me the news I wanted, why then need I detain you here? Are you anxious to become a hanger-on to a querulous invalid? No, Kester St. George, that is not the kind of life that would suit you—or me either. Stay in Paris or go back to London, as may please you best. When I want you again, I will send for you. Meanwhile you may rest fully assured that I shall not forget you.” “I suppose it must be as you wish, sir,” said Kester, humbly. “May I ask whether it is your intention to make any very long stay in Paris?” “If my strength increases as it has done during the last few days, I shall not stay here more than another fortnight at the most.”