That night came young Webster's opportunity of speaking to Mr. Cass. They found themselves alone in the smoking-room somewhere after eleven. Mrs. Marshall had whisked her husband off, intimating that she wished to speak to him; and as a matter of fact she desired to tell him of her discovery as to Ned's identity. The communication, she knew, would not be a pleasant one for him to hear from his association with the young man's father. Besides which, it is not always agreeable to remember that you have been the friend of a man who has been murdered. Heron also had left the smoking-room early, so the two who were so desirous of speaking to each other had their wishes gratified. "You are not in spirits to-night, Neil," the elder man, who always addressed him thus when they were alone. And why not, seeing that Webster was his protege? "No," was the gloomy reply. "I do not feel satisfied with my position." "And why not? You have found fame and money, and----" "I know all that," interrupted Neil, "but I am thinking of my parents. I do not know who they were." Mr. Cass was quite prepared for this. Indeed, it was not the first time the young man had asked him! and his answer now was the same as he had always made. "I have told you a dozen times that your parents were Americans and died in the States. I knew them intimately, and so was the means of bringing you to England. There is nothing for you to worry about." "Why cannot I recollect my childhood?" persisted Neil. "Because you had a severe illness which affected your memory." "Then there is nothing in my past that I need to be ashamed of?" "Nothing," if you mean as regards your parents. "As to yourself, my dear Neil, your life has been most exemplary. I am proud of you." "Are you sufficiently proud of me to let me be your son-in-law?" Mr. Cass tugged at his long moustache. "I cannot truthfully say that I should like that," he said. "Does Ruth care for you?" "Yes; we want to marry--with your consent." "That you shall never have." "Why not?" "I don't approve of the marriage. For your own sake, don't ask the reason." Neil Webster started to his feet with a look of horror. "Ah!" he cried. "Then the dream was true. My father was murdered!" Mr. Cass rose also pale and agitated. "In Heaven's name who told you that?" he cried. "I dreamt it in the Turnpike House----" "The very place," Mr. Cass said, under his breath. "It was a dream, and yet not a dream," continued Neil. "Myself I believe it was a recovery of the memories which you say were destroyed by illness. Ah! Now I know why you will not let me marry your daughter. It is because I am the son of a murdered man!" "No," was the deliberate answer. "You may as well know the truth. Your mother is now in prison for the murder of her husband--of your father!" CHAPTER VII. WEBSTER'S CHILDHOOD.