"Would you choose to go through your life without assistance?" said Colonel Sutherland, calmly, making a note in his pocketbook, and going on with the conversation without looking up--"would you reject kindness and friendship, and the hand of your neighbour? Have a care, young man--the next step to receiving no help is giving none. Would you live without the charities of life, you foolish boy? And what's to hinder you entering life with a feeling of obligation? I would like to know a nobler and a kindlier sentiment than honest manful gratitude. Can you tell me a better? And how do you know you will never be able to repay it? Do you debar yourself from ever helping another, when you accept help yourself? Go away with your nonsense. I trust I am not the man to advise any youngster against his honour. What do you say--a man is the best judge for himself? No such thing, boy. Not when the man is twenty. I will tell you what to do in the meantime--keep quiet for a week or two, and leave the affair in my hands." "But you do not know me. I may be deceiving you--telling you lies--working on your goodnature, for my own advantage," exclaimed Musgrave, with a voice which, between vexation and gratitude, and the new hopes which, in spite of himself, began to gain ground upon him, was almost inaudible. "Eh?--I'm rather hard of hearing. I did not quite catch what you said," said Colonel Sutherland, bending towards him his deaf ear, with that look of anxious, solicitous kindness and earnest attention which nobody could resist. The effect upon poor Roger was almost laughable in its pathos. He turned red--he turned pale--he could hardly keep the tears out of his boyish eyes; and, with a voice broken with emotion, shouted out his words so loud and harsh, that the Colonel started back in alarm and surprise. "You don't know me--I may be deceiving you!" cried the young man, with a hurried and abrupt conclusion, singularly like a sob; and so hid his face in his hands, unable to contain himself, disturbed out of all the self-possession which thinly veiled the quick susceptibilities of grief. The Colonel patted him gently on the arm with his kind hand. "That is true," he said, with the simple wisdom of his pure heart, "very true--you _might_ be deceiving me--but you _are_ not." CHAPTER XVIII.