“And, secondly,” continued Nathan Gomer, “that I consider my advice, if worth asking for, to be worth following. I therefore distinctly decline to give it unless you, having faith in the deep concern I entertain for your welfare and interests, pass to me your word of honour as a gentleman that you will accept it and carry it out.” The first was a subject of eager curiosity to Wilton, and he was only too glad that Nathan had himself mooted it: but the second was a poser. Suppose he should advise as Charlock had done? A rapid retrospective reflection, however, caused Wilton to believe that he might rely upon the sincerity of Nathan Gomer’s counsel, for he had proved its truth and its profound sagacity; so he assented, with a graceful manifestation, which Nathan accepted at pretty much its proper value. “First, then,” he exclaimed, “to reveal to you who I am, and why I therefore have taken upon myself to advance your interests, and ensure the happiness of yourself and children.” He drew a deep breath and placed his hand over his eyes. Wilton, Mark, and Flora regarded him with breathless attention. For a minute or so a profound silence reigned, broken only by the heavy inspirations of Nathan Gomer. CHAPTER XVI.--THE FLOWER OF THE FLOCK. And from the prayer of Want, and plaint of Woe, Oh! never, never turn away thine ear! Forlorn is this bleak wilderness below Oh! what were man, should Heaven refuse to hear? To others do (the law is not severe) What to thyself thou wishest to be done. --Armstrong. Nathan Gomer withdrew his hands from before his eyes. A sharp spasm which had almost convulsed his frame had passed away, and he commenced his revelation. He addressed himself to Wilton, rather than to his other auditors, and it soon became evident that his story possessed for the old man a most absorbing interest. “I was separated from my family at a very early age,” he commenced, “being taken under the roof and tender care of a sister of my mother. My father was a wild, dissipated spendthrift, in perpetual pecuniary difficulties. My mother, a gentle, timid, tender creature, passed a life of incessant fright, care and distressing misery, after her union with him. She had been married to him some five years before I was born, and at that period she had reached the very climax of wretchedness with the miserable man to whom she was tied; a series of wild excesses drove him into an infuriated insanity, during a fearful paroxysm of which life was snatched from him. In my mother’s horror at this event, I was prematurely born. My mother never recovered the shock. Within two years of my father’s decease, she was placed in the same grave, and I was taken charge of by her sister.