'No--now that's _quite_ true--no harm. There _can't_ be, for I _must_ know it all some day, you know, and better now, and from _you_, than perhaps from a stranger, and in a less favourable way.' 'Upon my word, it is a wise little woman; and really, that's not such bad sense after all.' So we poured out another cup of tea each, and sipped it very comfortably by the fire, while Lady Knollys talked on, and her animated face helped the strange story. 'It is not very much, after all. Your uncle Silas, you know, is living?' 'Oh yes, in Derbyshire.' 'So I see you do know something of him, sly girl! but no matter. You know how very rich your father is; but Silas was the younger brother, and had little more than a thousand a year. If he had not played, and did not care to marry, it would have been quite enough--ever so much more than younger sons of dukes often have; but he was--well, a _mauvais sujet_--you know what that is. I don't want to say any ill of him--more than I really know--but he was fond of his pleasures, I suppose, like other young men, and he played, and was always losing, and your father for a long time paid great sums for him. I believe he was really a most expensive and vicious young man; and I fancy he does not deny that now, for they say he would change the past if he could. I was looking at the pensive little boy in the oval frame--aged eight years--who was, a few springs later, 'a most expensive and vicious young man,' and was now a suffering and outcast old one, and wondering from what a small seed the hemlock or the wallflower grows, and how microscopic are the beginnings of the kingdom of God or of the mystery of iniquity in a human being's heart. 'Austin--your papa--was very kind to him--_very_; but then, you know, he's an oddity, dear--he _is_ an oddity, though no one may have told you before--and he never forgave him for his marriage. Your father, I suppose, knew more about the lady than I did--I was young then--but there were various reports, none of them pleasant, and she was not visited, and for some time there was a complete estrangement between your father and your uncle Silas; and it was made up, rather oddly, on the very occasion which some people said ought to have totally separated them. Did you ever hear anything--anything _very_ remarkable--about your uncle?' 'No, never, they would not tell me, though I am sure they know. Pray go on.' 'Well, Maud, as I have begun, I'll complete the story, though perhaps it might have been better untold. It was something rather shocking--indeed, _very_ shocking; in fact, they insisted on suspecting him of having committed a murder.' I stared at my cousin for some time, and then at the little boy, so refined, so beautiful, so _funeste_, in the oval frame. 'Yes, dear,' said she, her eyes following mine; 'who'd have supposed he could ever have--have fallen under so horrible a suspicion?' 'The wretches! Of course, Uncle Silas--of course, he's innocent?' I said at last.