His nephew sat near by with a daily paper in his hand, from which he appeared to have been reading to his uncle. "That will do, Hugo," said the old man. "I—I don't find any interest in the paper this morning." "How are you feeling, uncle—as well as usual?" "Well in health—that is, as well as I can expect to feel, but my life is empty. I have nothing to live for." "Why don't you die then?" thought the nephew, but he did not express his thought. On the contrary, he said, "Surely, uncle, you have much to live for. You are rich, honored." "But I have no one to love me, Hugo," said the old man, plaintively, "no one of my own blood. My son is dead, and his son—do you know, Hugo," he continued in a different voice, "I cannot get out of my mind that boy we saw in the circus?" Hugo shrugged his shoulder, but did not venture to express the annoyance he felt. "You mean the—the O'Connor boy," he said indifferently. "O'Connor!" replied his uncle, in surprise. "You told me his name was Oliver Brown." "Did I?" said Hugo, flushing. "Oh, well, I had forgotten. The name didn't impress me. I thought he was an Irish boy." "You said he was born in Montreal, and that his parents lived there now." "Oh, well, no doubt you are right, uncle: you know I didn't take as much interest in him as you—" "True, Hugo; but surely you could detect the wonderful resemblance to my son Julian." "I can't say I did, uncle; but probably we looked at him with different eyes." "That was natural. How much do you think they pay him in the circus, Hugo?" "Really, uncle, I haven't the slightest idea. I never knew any circus people. Four or five dollars a week, perhaps." "I have been thinking, Hugo, I should like to have that boy live with me." "You can't be in earnest, uncle," said Hugo, very disagreeably surprised. "Why not? He may not be akin to me; but he looks like my dead son, and for that resemblance I could come to love him. It would be a great comfort to me to see him every day, and have him come in and out. He might read to me, and so relieve you of some of your duties, Hugo." "But I have never asked to be relieved of them, uncle," said Hugo, bashfully. "I know that, Hugo, but he would be company for us both. I want you to go and bring him back with you. You can find out how much they pay him at the circus, and offer him more to come here. I will give him a chance to study, engage masters for him, and—" "Make him your heir, I suppose," said Hugo to himself, with a dark frown, which his uncle did not see; "not if I am able to prevent it. My uncle must think I am a fool to bring into the house so dangerous a rival. After waiting so many weary years for Chestnutwood, does he think I am going to let it drift into the hands of an unknown boy simply because he looks like my cousin Julian?"