Upon this, after some hours' deliberation, Sir John Manvers wrote to Mrs Watson, and, making it a condition that she should never again address him on the subject of this miserable child, he settled an annuity of two hundred a year on this woman and her husband for the boy's maintenance, till of age, if he returned and reached the age of one-and-twenty. At the age of one-and-twenty some other steps were to be considered. Sir John believed that the Watsons had some reason for endeavouring to overreach him, but it was not so in this instance; the child really was missing. The man Watson would have pocketed the annuity without acting further in the matter. Mrs Watson was "used to the child," and "had a liking for him;" so she did her best to discover him, but for a long time without success. Her husband kept back part of the sum allowed, and she afterwards learned that he bribed some infamous people to keep young Jasper out of the way of his nurse, who, though without firm principles, was not bad-hearted. Sir John soon began to hope--God forgive him!--that he should hear no more of the poor boy cast upon the troubled waters of the world. In those days there were no railways, nor electric telegraphs, nor police; sin prospered much more secretly than it does now. Even now the little church in Cornwall lies remote from populous places, for no _iron road_ can penetrate through the rugged defiles that lead to it. Oh! that men would consider the future, and calculate even the chances of the evils which may accumulate from the commission of one solitary sin. We are inclined to pity the youth, who in the poor curate's daughter found relief after the gloomy days spent at home, and surely for him whose heart was softened at the sight of the father's anguish them were hopes of better things; but his besetting demon was pride--pride fostered by his mother. Oh mothers! do you deeply weigh your responsibilities?--do you remember that it is to your hands the virgin soil of the garden foils for culture? And lo! see what a strait this pride brought him to at last! And is it not always so? Are we not perpetually punished by the very instruments we have ourselves employed for evil? Do we not constantly stumble at the pit we have digged to serve our own purposes? Pride made Sir John Manvers hesitate ere he recognised Sir Adrian Fairfax in the lighted saloons of Dublin Castle; he would have been his friend, but the opportunity was lost; and, though in after-years the incidents of their profession brought them nearer to each other, it then was too late to remedy the evil.