"Then I will allow you the same," said Mr. Winkworth. "I adopt you as a son. You won't be the worse for two fathers, especially when one is away; and I am a nabob, you know, who could eat gold if I liked, were it not that the food is indigestible; and, to tell the truth, I've been so long accustomed to feed upon rice, and to wear one coat the whole year, that I fear anything like dainty diet and rich apparel would be the death of me. Hark! there is somebody coming to the door--that's your uncle, I'll warrant. Take him quickly through the room to that one beyond: don't introduce him, and let me finish what I am about." The last words were spoken just as Mr. Scriven was entering the room; and as he was by no means deaf, he must have heard them. He gazed coldly upon Mr. Winkworth, however, as he advanced towards his nephew; but the old gentleman merely raised his head for an instant, made a slight bow, and resumed the reading of the papers before him, while Charles led his uncle into a small room beyond. As may be supposed from all that had lately passed between uncle and nephew, Charles did not feel very cordial towards Mr. Scriven; but that gentleman cared very little about it. He did not trouble himself about affections. They were not in his way of business. "Well, Charles," he said, "a lawyer has been to me to inquire into the particulars of the property settled upon you. I hope you are not going to borrow money." "Not a penny," replied Charles Marston, drily. "Then what is this lawyer's object?" asked Mr. Scriven. "Was he sent by you? If so, why?" "He was sent by me," replied Charles, "and for this reason: my father, on my coming of age, having plenty of money himself, settled upon me the income of my mother's property, to which he was entitled during his life. Now he has not plenty of money, and I am going to give him back what he gave to me. It must be done legally, and therefore I have employed a lawyer. You, as the trustee, have the papers, and he must see them." "Very good," said Mr. Scriven; "and pray how do you intend to live yourself?" "By my wits," answered Charles, "as many other people do, I believe." "Oh, plenty, plenty!" said Mr. Scriven. "Pray, have you seen your friend Colonel Middleton lately?" "Yes; I walked with him for an hour this morning," answered Charles, his colour a good deal heightened at the insinuation which lay couched in his uncle's abrupt question. "Then he has not gone down to Frimley again, to look for Miss Hayley?" said Mr. Scriven, with a meaning smile. Charles paused, a good deal struck. This was a new link in the chain of evidence proving that Henry Hayley and Frank Middleton were one; but he feared the use his uncle might make of the fact, if he could once establish it, and replied-- "You still suspect him of being Henry Hayley, I see; but I fancy you would have great difficulty in proving it."