“She would pick out the eye of a corpse if she thought a sovereign lay behind it!” said uncle Edmund. “To have the turning over of his rents,--” said uncle Edward, and checked himself. “Yes--it would be just one of her devil-tricks!” agreed uncle Edmund. “I beg your pardon, John,” said uncle Edward, as if it were he that had used the phrase, and uncle Edmund nodded to John, as if he had himself made the apology. John said nothing. His eyes looked wild with hope. He felt like one who, having been taught that he is a child of the devil, begins to know that God is his father--the one discovery worth making by son of man. Then, at my request, they went on with their story, which I had interrupted. When it was at length all poured out, and the last drops shaken from the memory of each, there fell a long silence, which my own uncle broke. “When shall we start, Ed?” he said. “To-morrow, Ed.” “This business of John's must come first, Ed!” “It shall, Ed!” “You know where you were born, John?” “On my father's estate of Rubworth in Gloucestershire, I _believe_” answered John. “You must be prepared for the worst, you know!” “I am prepared. As Orba told me once, God is my father, whoever my mother may be!” “That's right. Hold by that!” said my uncles, as with one breath. “Do you know the year you were born?” asked uncle Edmund. “My _mother_ says I was born in 1820.” “You have not seen the entry?” “No. One does not naturally doubt such statements.” “Assuredly not--until--” He paused. How uncle Edmund had regained his wits! And how young the brothers looked! “You mean,” said John, “until he has known my mother!” Now for the story of my twin uncles, mainly as written by my uncle Edward! CHAPTER XXXIV. THE STORY OF MY TWIN UNCLES. “My brother and I were marvellously like. Very few of our friends, none of them with certainty, could name either of us apart--or even together. Only two persons knew absolutely which either of us was, and those two were ourselves. Our mother certainly did not--at least without seeing one or other of our backs. Even we ourselves have each made the blunder occasionally of calling the other by the wrong name. Our indistinguishableness was the source of ever-recurring mistake, of constant amusement, of frequent bewilderment, and sometimes of annoyance in the family. I once heard my father say to a friend, that God had never made two things alike, except his twins. We two enjoyed the fun of it so much, that we did our best to increase the confusions resulting from our resemblance. We did not lie, but we dodged and pretended, questioned and looked mysterious, till I verily believe the person concerned, having in himself so vague an idea of our individuality, not unfrequently forgot which he had blamed, or which he had wanted, and became hopelessly muddled.