"But there is one thing I should like you to understand," she added, looking up at him. "I consent, it is true; but, had it not been for another reason, far more powerful with me than any you have urged, I never should have done so. It is a reason which you do not know of--and which I pray that you never may know of," she added, in a lower key. He made no answer; indeed, he seemed little interested in my mother's words. He turned, instead, to me and read in my face all the enthusiasm which hers lacked. I would have spoken, but he held up his hand and checked me. "Only on one condition," he said coldly. "No thanks. I hate them! What I do for you I do to please myself. The money which it will cost me is no more than I have thrown away many times on the idlest passing pleasure. I have simply chosen to gratify a whim, and it happens that you are the gainer. Remember that you can best show your gratitude by silence." His words fell like drops of ice upon my impetuosity. I remained silent without an effort. "From what you said just now," he continued, "I learn that it has been your desire to perfect your education in a fashion which you could not have done here. Have you any distinct aims? I mean, have you any definite ideas as to the future?" I shook my head. "I never dared to encourage any," I answered, truthfully enough. "I knew that we were poor and that I should have to think about earning my living soon--probably as a schoolmaster." "You mean to say, then, that you have never had any distinct ambitions--everything has been vague?" "Except one thing," I answered slowly. "There is one thing which I have always set before me to accomplish some day, but it is scarcely an ambition and it has nothing to do with a career." "Tell it to me!" he commanded. I did so, without hesitation, looking him full in the face with heightened colour, but speaking with all the determination which I felt in my heart. "I have made up my mind that some day I will find the man Francis--the man who murdered my father!" He was silent. I could almost have fancied that he was in some measure moved by my words, and the refined beauty of his dark face was heightened for a moment by the strange, sad look which flashed across it. Then he rose and took up his riding-whip from the table. "A boyish enthusiasm," he remarked contemptuously, as he made his way towards the door. "Where the cleverest detectives in England have failed, you hope to succeed. Well, I wish you success. The rascal deserves to swing, certainly. You will hear further from me in a day or two. Good-morning!" He left the room abruptly and I followed him, stepping bareheaded out into the sunshine to look about for Jim, who was leading his horse up and down the road. When I returned, Mr. Ravenor was still standing upon the doorstep watching me intently.