“Hear me out, sir,” said he, passionately. “If it is to be one of law, let Sir Horace Upton give his testimony,--tell all that he knows,--and let us see what it will avail him. You may--it is quite open to you--place us front to front as enemies. You may teach the boy to regard me as one who has robbed him of his birthright, and train him up to become my accuser in a court of justice. But my cause is a strong one, it cannot be shaken; and where you hope to brand _me_ with tyranny, you will but visit bastardy upon _him_. Think twice, then, before you declare this combat. It is one where all your craft will not sustain you.” “My dear Glencore, it is not in this spirit that we can speak profitably to each other. If you will not hear my reasons calmly and dispassionately, to what end am I here? You have long known me as one who lays claim to no more rigid morality than consists with the theory of a worldly man's experiences. I affect no high-flown sentiments. I am as plain and practical as may be; and when I tell you that you are wrong in this affair, I mean to say that what you are about to do is not only bad, but impolitic. In your pursuit of a victim, you are immolating yourself.” “Be it so; I go not alone to the stake; there is another to partake of the torture,” cried Glencore, wildly; and already his flushed cheek and flashing eyes betrayed the approach of a feverish access. “If I am not to have any influence with you, then,” resumed Upton, “I am here to no purpose. If to all that I say--to arguments you cannot answer--you obstinately persist in opposing an insane thirst for revenge, I see not why you should desire my presence. You have resolved to do this great wrong?” “It is already done, sir,” broke in Glencore. “Wherein, then, can I be of any service to you?” “I am coming to that. I had come to it before, had you not interrupted me. I want you to be guardian to the boy. I want you to replace me in all that regards authority over him. You know life well, Upton. You know it not alone in its paths of pleasure and success, but you understand thoroughly the rugged footway over which humble men toil wearily to fortune. None can better estimate a man's chances of success, nor more surely point the road by which he is to attain it. The provision which I destine for him will be an humble one, and he will need to rely upon his own efforts. You will not refuse me this service, Upton. I ask it in the name of our old friendship.” “There is but one objection I could possibly have, and yet that seems to be insurmountable.” “And what may it be?” cried Glencore. “Simply, that in acceding to your request, I make myself an accomplice in your plan, and thus aid and abet the very scheme I am repudiating.”