The August sun shone warmly into the room; through the half-open windows came the hum of traffic in the streets; a vagrant breeze, playing at hide-and-seek among the heavy hangings of the bed, brought with it a faint odour of mignonette from the boxes on the broad window-sills outside. A hand of the dying man sought a hand of his nephew, found it, and clasped it. The latter had been expressing his sorrow at finding his uncle in so sad a state, and his hopes that he would yet get over the results of his accident. "There is no hope of that, boy," said Mr. Denison. "A few hours more, and all will be ended. But why should you be sorry? Is the heir ever really sorry when he sees the riches and power, which all his life he has been taught will one day be his, coming at last into his own grasp? Human nature's pretty much the same all the world over." "But I am indeed heartily sorry; believe me or not, uncle, as you like." "I will try to believe you, boy," said Mr. Denison with a faint smile, "and that, perhaps, will answer the same purpose." There was silence for a little while, then the sick man resumed. "Nephew, this is a sad, wild, reckless life that you have been leading in London these four years past." "It is all that, uncle." "Had I lived, what would the end of it have been?" "Upon my word I don't know. Utter beggary I suppose." "How much money are you possessed of?" "I won a hundred guineas the other night at faro. I am not aware that I possess much beyond that." "And your debts?" The young man mused a moment. "Really, I hardly know to a hundred or two. A thousand pounds would probably cover them, but I am not sure." "A thousand pounds! And I have paid your debts twice over within the last four years!" Gilbert the younger smiled. "You see, uncle, the schedule I sent you each time was not a complete one. I did not care to let you know every liability." "You did not expect me to assist you again?" "Certainly not, sir, after the last letter you wrote to me. I knew that when you wrote in that strain you meant what you said. I should never have troubled you again." "After your hundred guineas had gone--and they would last you but a very short time--what did you intend to do?" "I had hardly thought seriously about it. Perhaps the fickle goddess might have smiled on me again. If not, I should have done something or other. Probably enlisted." "Enlisted as a common soldier?" "As a common soldier. I don't know that I'm good for much else." "But all that is changed now. Or at least you suppose so." "I suppose nothing of the kind, sir," said the young man, hotly. "As the master of Heron Dyke, with an income of six thousand a year, you will be a very different personage from a needy young rake, haunting low gaming-tables, and trying to pick up a few guineas at faro from bigger simpletons than yourself." Gilbert the younger sprang to his feet, his lips white and quivering with passion.