“Sir, you know well that no such mean spirit of vengeance will influence my action in this matter.” “Ha! well, it will be because it cannot. You can’t prosecute me—you can’t appear against me—because you can’t disgrace me without dishonouring yourself. It would not do, you think, to have it said that Judge Sutherland’s uncle was a felon.” “And why should not ‘Judge Sutherland’s’ uncle, or Judge Anyone’s uncle, be called a felon, if he _is_ a felon, as well as the poorest man’s uncle alive? Is it because the former has more power, more means, more friends, fewer wants, fewer temptations, than the latter? I think not. No, sir! family pride will no more restrain my action, than revenge will impel it. Family considerations, personal pride, never _have_ influenced my conduct, and never _will_ do so. No, sir; I conform my life to a purer rule of action. In every question there is a right and a wrong. I obey the right. Had I a brother or a son guilty of felony, and it became my duty to bear witness against either, I should do it, though my testimony consigned the culprit to death. No, sir; if we refrain from prosecution, it will be for a reason much holier than pride. It will be from a motive that would also actuate us in sparing the veriest forsaken wretch alive!” Clement Sutherland had sat with his elbows on the table, and his head bowed in his hands, his grey hair dishevelled, and his thin, withered features whitened and drawn in as by internal agony. But now he bursts forth in a fit of fury, as ungovernable as it was unreasonable and impotent. Mark Sutherland stood quietly by, and let his rage exhaust itself. Then, when the guilty man was calm from prostration, his nephew spoke to him coolly, wisely, kindly—making him understand and feel that his detection was inevitable, unless he put him in possession of all the facts, to prepare him to meet knowingly the exigencies of the case. It was very difficult to influence the wretched man, who, having parted with his own faith, was unable to rest on the good faith of any other. And it was only after arguing and persuading him all the afternoon and evening, that late at night he won from the guilty man a full account of the circumstances. “And now, what do you purpose to do?” was his trembling question, when he had confessed all. “I shall return home to-morrow, and take counsel with Rosalie.” “Take counsel with _her_!” exclaimed the old man, in alarm. “Be at ease, sir. She has a voice in this matter Nay, she _has_—it _must_ be—it is _her_ name that has been used—_her_ property that is lost. And if it were not—if it were my own exclusive affair, still I should consult her before taking any important step!” “_What will become of us?_—of India? My child! my child! that your high head should be bowed with shame!” cried the wretched man, in a voice of anguish.