"This is all then that you have to say?" said Colonel Sutherland; "you will not assist him to make his life honourable and useful? Will you explain to him why you decline doing so?--will you tell him that his future is so secured, that a profession is unnecessary to him? Do the boy some justice--let there be a natural explanation between you. You cannot expect him to go on in this way for years. Could you wish it? I beseech you, either tell him how matters stand, or help him to carry out his most lawful and virtuous wish! Will you do one or the other? I beseech you, tell me!" "I tell you no!" said Mr. Scarsdale. "Let the dog wait! I will neither put myself in his power, nor help him to the best means of spying out my secret. No! Have I spoken distinctly?--he shall have neither confidence nor assistance from me!" "Is it possible?" cried the Colonel, driven to an extremity of mingled wonder, indignation, and pity; "for the sake of your own exasperated feelings, _can_ you make up your mind to revenge yourself, by ruining this unhappy lad, your only son, for ever?" "I beg your pardon--this unhappy lad is very well off," said his extraordinary father; "so well off, that I certainly do not find myself called upon to do any more for him--although," said Mr. Scarsdale, with a glance of bitterness upon the kind, anxious face which bent towards him, "I am aware that to help a man who does not require help is understood to be the way of the world." The Colonel's weather-beaten face flushed high with angry colour; he was surprised and grieved and wounded to his heart, but he had still and always this advantage over his adversary, that the unkindest insinuation which Scarsdale could make made his brother-in-law only the more sorry for him, and wrought more grief than passion in his mind. After the first moment he looked wistfully into the face of his former friend, with a compassionate and troubled amazement, which, little though the Colonel intended it, roused his companion to fury. "How you must be changed!" he said, sadly, "to be able to say such words to me;" and Colonel Sutherland sighed as he spoke, with the hopeless patience of a man who sees no means of bringing good out of evil. The sigh, the tone, and the look wound up the recluse into the utmost rage; he made a wild imperative gesture and exclamation--for his voice was choked with fury--and opened the door violently. It was thus that Colonel Sutherland's appeal and hopes for Horace concluded; he left the study without another word. CHAPTER XXI. "Yes, Susan, I am going away presently, and I fear I shall not see you again either," said Colonel Sutherland, with a cheerfulness which he was far from feeling--"that is, not _this_ time, my love; but there is plenty of time, if it be the Lord's will, Susan. You are very young, and I am not very old. We are tough, we old Indians; we wear a long time, and we shall meet, my dear child, I don't doubt, many happy days."