It was the admiral who first recovered from the stunning effect of the epistles, and he, with a gesture of perfect fury, exclaimed,— “The scoundrel—the cold-blooded villain! I renounce him for ever! he is no nephew of mine; he is some d—d imposter! Nobody with a dash of my family blood in his veins would have acted so to save himself from a thousand deaths.” “Who shall we trust now,” said Henry, “when those whom we take to our inmost hearts deceive us thus? This is the greatest shock I have yet received. If there be a pang greater than another, surely it is to be found in the faithlessness and heartlessness of one we loved and trusted.” “He is a scoundrel!” roared the admiral. “D—n him, he’ll die on a dunghill, and that’s too good a place for him. I cast him off—I’ll find him out, and old as I am, I’ll fight him—I’ll wring his neck, the rascal; and, as for poor dear Miss Flora, God bless her! I’ll—I’ll marry her myself, and make her an admiral.—I’ll marry her myself. Oh, that I should be uncle to such a rascal!” “Calm yourself,” said Henry, “no one can blame you.” “Yes, you can; I had no right to be his uncle, and I was an old fool to love him.” The old man sat down, and his voice became broken with emotion as he said,— “Sir, I tell you I would have died willingly rather than this should have happened. This will kill me now,—I shall die now of shame and grief.” Tears gushed from the admiral’s eyes and the sight of the noble old man’s emotion did much to calm the anger of Henry which, although he said but little, was boiling at his heart like a volcano. “Admiral Bell,” he said, “you have nothing to do with this business; we can not blame you for the heartlessness of another. I have but one favour to ask of you.” “What—what can I do?” “Say no more about him at all.” “I can’t help saying something about him. You ought to turn me out of the house.” “Heaven forbid! What for?” “Because I’m his uncle—his d—d old fool of an uncle, that always thought so much of him.” “Nay, my good sir, that was a fault on the right side, and cannot discredit you. I thought him the most perfect of human beings.” “Oh, if I could but have guessed this.” “It was impossible. Such duplicity never was equalled in this world—it was impossible to foresee it.” “Hold—hold! did he give you fifty pounds?” “What?” “Did he give you fifty pounds?” “Give me fifty pounds! Most decidedly not; what made you think of such a thing?” “Because to-day he borrowed fifty pounds of me, he said, to lend to you.” “I never heard of the transaction until this moment.” “The villain!” “No, doubt, sir, he wanted that amount to expedite his progress abroad.” “Well, now, damme, if an angel had come to me and said ‘Hilloa! Admiral Bell, your nephew, Charles Holland, is a thundering rogue,’ I should have said ‘You’re a liar!’”