"Yes," responded Mr. Carlaw, thoughtfully, "the boy is like his father; he was not built for toil. There are those who are made--positively made, sir--to cut a figure in the world, that duller eyes may look on them, and admire. I am one of those; it is in the blood; Brian is another." With a great show of hurry upon him, he thrust the precious letter in his pocket, and stooped and caught Brian by the arm and dragged him to his feet. The boy, with that unbelief in his father which past experience had probably sown deep in his breast, resisted a little, and did not enter quite so joyously into the spirit of the matter as his parent wished. "But what have I got to do?" he asked, petulantly, rising slowly to his feet with his fathers assistance. "Do?" exclaimed that gentleman. "My son, there is not a moment to be lost. You do not know your Aunt Charlotte; I have but stated the case mildly when I say that she is eccentric. She may change her mind at any moment; may have forgotten the suggestion she makes in this letter before we have time to reach London. Come; there is not a moment to be lost; it is the opportunity of a lifetime." "Oh, we're going to London, are we?" asked the boy, his face brightening. "Yes, my son," cried Mr. Carlaw, clapping him affectionately on the shoulder, "to London! London the glorious, the wonderful! London, where you shall take your place among the best of them, and be no more hidden from sight here. Your poor father would have taken his place among its notables years ago, but that the purse-strings had to be kept too tightly. Come, my son, it wrings a father's heart to have to part with you, but Fate has been good to you, my son, Fate has been very good to you." He had got his arm round the boy's shoulders, and was actually dragging him away, without remembering the proprieties, when Brian turned and looked back over his shoulder, compelling his father to halt for a moment. The smile that Comethup thought always was like light played about his face for a moment as they sat there watching him. "Good-bye!" he called. "I don't want to go a bit, but if dad says I must, there's no help for it. Good-bye; don't forget me. I won't forget you, any of you, and I'll come back soon to see you. Good-bye, Comethup." The last they saw of him was his slight, boyish figure, still encircled by his father's arm, going across the uneven ground toward the town. Mr. Robert Carlaw was waving his disengaged hand enthusiastically in that direction, as though he pointed to fortune and all desirable things. CHAPTER VIII. COMETHUP SUFFERS A LOSS.