"Why, yes! He has excellent abilities, and might do much for himself, but is too like the father, but with this difference, Edward was good-natured and careless to a fault; this boy is haughty and petulant, with the unmanageable obstinacy and self-will of old Geoffrey. He is not grateful for the many obligations he owes to me, and gives me frequent cause to regret that I ever adopted him into my family." "When you are tired of him," said Sir Alexander, carelessly, "you may turn him over to me. I am sure I could make something of him." "You are not in earnest?" in a tone of surprise. "Never more so." A long silence ensued. My hand trembled with indignation. Was this Mr. Moncton's pretended friendship? I tried in vain to write. "It is useless," I said mentally. "The deed may go to the devil, and Robert Moncton along with it, for what I care," and I flung the parchment from me. "That man is an infamous liar! I will tell him so to his face." I was just about to burst into the room, when Sir Alexander resumed the conversation. "Who was this lad's mother?" "A young person of the name of Rivers; the only daughter of a poor curate, in Derbyshire. You know my brother's dissipated habits. He enticed the girl from her peaceful home, and grief for her loss brought the old father to his grave. This boy was the sole fruit of the connection. The parents were never married." "Is that a fact?" "I have made every legal inquiry upon the subject; but, no proofs are in existence of such an union between the parties." "I can scarcely believe Edward guilty of such a villainous act!" "Extravagant men of unsettled principles are not much troubled with qualms of conscience. On his death-bed Edward repented of this act, and recommended the child to my especial care and protection. His letter, which I have by me, was couched in such moving terms, that I considered myself bound in duty to do what I could for the boy, as he was not answerable for the fault of the parents. I took him home the day his mother was buried, and he has been an inmate of my house ever since." "When he is out of his time, what do you intend doing for him?" "I have not yet determined; perhaps, associate him with myself in the office. There is, however, one stumbling-block in the way--the dislike which exists between him and Theophilus." "Ay, that might prove a formidable barrier to their mutual welfare. By-the-by, what has become of Theophilus?" "He was travelling on the continent. His last letter is dated from Rome. He has been a great source of trouble and vexation to me, and is constantly getting into scrapes by his gallantries, which you must allow, Sir Alexander, is a family failing of the Monctons." "His conduct lately has been such," said the baronet, in an angry voice, "that it makes me blush that we bear the same name. It was to speak to you on this painful subject that brought me to London."