Fitzgerald was instantly alarmed. He knew, for Hugo had told him, that the boy bore a wonderful resemblance to his dead father, and, of course, that father must have old friends and acquaintances who would see the resemblance and possibly betray it to the boy. "Is there anything so remarkable in that?" he asked. "Probably there are hundreds of people whom you resemble." "But he said I looked as if I might be this man's son," continued Robert. "Did he mention the name of this old school-mate?" inquired Fitzgerald, alarmed. "Yes; he said his name was Julian Richmond." If Robert had been watching the countenance of his employer he would have seen a sudden look of dismay which might have roused his suspicions, but he was taking a last look at the great cataract. "Very likely!" said Fitzgerald, after a slight pause. "I have been told plenty of times that I looked like this one and that one." "But you know your family, and I do not. I have no knowledge of who my father was, and so I hoped that I might hear something that would reveal it to me. May I ask the gentleman his name? I might like to—" "No," answered Fitzgerald, with an abrupt harshness that made Robert survey him in astonishment. "You are too old to be so childish. I have no time to lose. Come at once with me to the hotel." "It wouldn't take a minute." "Do you hear what I say?" said his employer, angrily. Robert was too proud to make any further request. He was puzzled at the extraordinary manner of Fitzgerald, for which there seemed no occasion. It was the first time that his new employer had spoken to him harshly, and he was unable to account for it. He did not press the request, being unwilling to subject himself to any further rudeness. Had he known how important that inquiry was, he would have made it at all hazards. As it was, his curiosity had been excited, but he had no suspicion that he was already on the threshold of the secret which had always been withheld from him. Robert was proud, and his proud spirit rebelled against his employer's rudeness; but he was not in a position to break with him. He had taken no money with him, and was of course dependent upon Fitzgerald. He was hundreds of miles away from his good friends the Greys, and it was the part of prudence not to manifest the resentment he felt. If he had had in his pocket the two hundred dollars which belonged to him he might have acted differently. As it was, he preserved a dignified silence. Fitzgerald, on arriving at the hotel, made arrangements to leave at once. When they were fairly on their way he changed his manner, became conciliatory and affable, and apparently endeavored to make Robert forget his harsh words. "I suppose he spoke hastily," thought Robert. "He could not know how important it seemed to me to make any inquiries about my family. At any rate, I know the gentleman lives in Albany, and some day I will hunt him up." CHAPTER XXVI. A VICTIM OF TREACHERY.