A tempest of anger and dislike had arisen in the young man's heart while the lawyer was speaking, which it was as characteristic of his temper. to control as to feel. His dark face was pale, and his stern brows were knit into a frown widely at variance with soft youthful features, which seemed so unfitting a vehicle for the display of such passions; but he did not speak until Mr. Eliot Foster had told him to sit down and attend to the contents of the paper in his hand.

Pardon me, sir,' he said then; if you are going to enter upon the money-matters between us, I cannot attend to them until you have either answered or refused to answer my questions. Will you now tell me who I am, who my parents are, and what is my rightful position?'

business. May I ask if it is consistent with | concluded, he drew open a drawer of the your business feelings and intentions to give table before him, and selected from a numme any information concerning myself? Iber of papers which it contained a folded am aware that you placed me under Mrs. sheet of foolscap, indorsed in his own handWood's charge, and that she knows nothing writing, Henry Hurst's accounts.' of my parents. Will you now, when I have to begin life as a man, tell me who I am, who my parents are, in what station of life I was born, to what extent I am defrauded of my just rights, and why I have been hitherto deprived of that knowledge which is the birthright of the meanest of mankind?' The young man had risen as he spoke in the earnestness of a demand which might have had more effect had it taken the form of an appeal. He stood by the table, and looked at Mr. Eliot Foster with frowning intentness. The lawyer made no reply for some minutes, during which the young man's impatience became extreme. Then he deliberately took off his spectacles, wiped them on his large silk handkerchief, laid them down on the desk before him, and answered, holding the edge of the table with both hands, and looking at Henry Hurst as 'No,' said Mr. Eliot Foster, in a tone of closely as Henry Hurst was looking at him. cold decision, I will not. The nature of Many years ago I accepted a trust con- my trust as regards you, and the sole porcerning you, which I have fulfilled hitherto tion of it from which it is not in my power in the letter at least, if not in the spirit, as to discharge myself, preclude my giving that spirit might be interpreted by persons you now, as heretofore, any information on of a more sentimental disposition than mine, these points. You can never know more and less knowledge of the world. I under- of your own history than you know at prestook to have you well cared for and hon-ent. Let me advise you to dismiss all specestly brought up, to provide you with a ulation on the subject from your mind. It sufficient education to enable you to earn your bread, and to administer the small property which is yours well and profitably, I might have done much more than this had you interested or pleased me as a child; but you did not. I watched you closely, and I did not see anything in you to justify or encourage me in converting the formal relation I held towards you into a real one, and therefore I have done no less, but not more. The time has now come when I can discharge myself of this trust. I do it without regret and without self-reproach. I hope you will conduct yourself well, and prosper; indeed, I do not doubt it, for I think you are possessed of many of the qualities which peculiarly command success, and lead to prosperity. I do not pretend that you owe me any gratitude; but if there be any others to whom you do owe gratitude, I hope they may not find you destitute of that virtue. To me you owe nothing but a re-take were purely fortuitous.' ceipt.'

Mr. Eliot Foster was almost surprised himself at the length of the oration he had pronounced. It would have astonished his familiars, accustomed to his deliberate terseness of speech, very much. When he

must be utterly vain, and it may militate seriously against your future prospects by filling your head with chimeras, and preventing your going steadily to work to make a career of independence for yourself.'

'Do you mean, then, that you will tell me nothing?' said Henry Hurst. Do you mean that I am to be forever ignorant?"

I do mean that,' said Mr. Eliot Foster; it is hard, I confess, but it is no fault of mine. I act according to the instructions which I received, and the pledge which I gave. I never will tell you anything more.' 'Not whether my parents are living or dead?'

The

'No,' said Mr. Eliot Foster, 'not whether your parents are living or dead. only thing I will tell you is, that you are no relative of mine, nor connected with me in any way. The circumstances which induced me to accept the trust I did under

The old man and the young looked at each other during this brief dialogue with increasing dislike, of which feeling in the mind of the other each was distinctly conscious.

'Your determination is final?'

'Very well,' said Henry Hurst; then no more need be said on the subject.'

'Yes,' said Mr. Eliot Foster, quite | be done with him forever; there would be no final. Nothing but an accident, so improb- more, even the slight restraint of an authorable that it may be said to be impossible, ised influence or opinion over his life. Lonecan ever make you acquainted with the cir- ly, deserted, disowned as he was, and must cumstances which led to your being con- continue to be-for he entertained no fided to my care.' hope of shaking the resolution which Mr. Eliot Foster had expressed - he should at least be his own master. Henry Hurst was There was extraordinary strength of char- of a disposition to enjoy such a reflection acter, though not of a kind which any one thoroughly, and to cherish it, in the exasinterested in the young man's moral nature peration of his temper, with a vague sense would have been particularly pleased to of spiteful satisfaction, as though he injured recognise, in the resolute composure with and outraged somebody by this compensawhich Henry Hurst accepted Mr. Eliot Fos- ting and prized independence: so difficult ter's refusal to enlighten him, and immedi- was it for him to realise his utter isolation, ately turned his attention to the statement even while he fancied himself proudly inwhich he made to him, and which was in different to it. He listened sullenly, and brief this: Mr. Eliot Foster had employed Mr. Eliot Foster spoke coldly. The upshot the sum of one thousand pounds, handed to of the explanation and discussion was, that him by Julia Peyton, judiciously and prof- Henry Hurst should return to Coventry, itably, and had turned it to sufficient advan- bid adieu to his friends there, and go to tage to be able to produce it intact when Paris to prosecute his studies on a humble the boy should require it for his establish- but effective scale. On being apprised ment in life on any such modest scale as it that he had placed himself respectably, Mr. would represent. He had made up his Eliot Foster would transmit his money in mind, from the time at which he had aban- such portions as he desired. The young doned his first half-formed notion of adopt- man informed the lawyer that he had a ing Julia Peyton's child, that, even at a friend who could put him in the way of doloss to himself, the boy should have this ing what he proposed advantageously. He sum of money in its entirety, and he had was thinking of Hugh Gaynor; but Mr. Elmade many advances on his account at his iot Foster asked him no questions, and the own expense. This was a sort of winding-curate's name was not mentioned. up to an affair in which Mr. Eliot Foster point the colloquy came to an end, to the had experienced some twinges of con- regret of neither; and Henry Hurst walked science, which seemed to him satisfactory, out into the quiet, grave old square, with and a termination to all possible self-re- as much anger, hatred, vindictiveness, and proach. He had seen too little of the boy, passionate pride raging within him as ever and sought too little to understand him, to furnished a foretaste of hell to one young be able to realise the bitterness of spirit, human heart. the injury to character and disposition Henry Hurst went out into the noisy which had been wrought by his sense of street, and mingled with the busy crowd. being unjustly treated; and as there was He knew the best and worst now, - knew nothing attractive to the lawyer about him that there was a small provision for him, he did not take the trouble to moralise, on just enough to keep him above want, until grounds of instinct, on the inevitable effect he should be enabled to do some of those on its victim of the compact into which he great things for himself which, always in a had entered. strictly material sense, his imagination preThere was little friendliness and no sym-sented and made so easy to him. He knew pathy in the manner in which Mr. Eliot Foster explained to Henry Hurst, whom he did not enlighten as to his pecuniary obligation to himself, how small the sum at his disposal was, and the great need which existed for his careful and deliberate choice, and diligent pursuing of a career by which he might attain independence. In the law-trust reposed in him- by whom?-hated yer's exordium, there was a tone of finality which Henry Hurst was not slow to feel and understand, and which, while he bitterly resented it, was somewhat of a relief to him. When he should leave the presence of this hard, harsh old man presently, he should

At this

that his absolute isolation from all known ties of relationship was confirmed, and the only supposition he had ever entertained, that of his possible kinship to Mr. Eliot Foster, was dispersed. He was glad of that; he hated the lawyer; hated him for the cold formality with which he had carried out the

him for the evident disapproval with which he regarded him. His brain was weaving a tangled web as he pushed his way through the crowd in one of the great thoroughfares; sometimes thinking, with cynical bitterness, how strange it was to be like him, ignorant

ness meant one thing to her and something quite different to him, held but a small and insignificant place in Henry Hurst's thoughts as he passed in review all that had taken place between himself and Mr. Eliot Fos

of himself. Why, the first man, any man, he met, might be his father; any woman from that fine lady sweeping by him in her luxurious barouche, whose wheels sent the sticky London mud lavishly over his clothes, to the tardy servant loitering at the cross-ter, and resolved, so far from seeking the ing, on her way to or from an errand- sympathy and advice of Hugh Gaynor, that might be his mother. And he should never he would conceal from him, as far as possiknow; he felt sure of that; he knew that ble, the defeat he had sustained, and break, whatever the bargain had been between at the earliest possible date, with all his late Mr. Eliot Foster and his own parents, or associations. their representatives, it had included invio- While Henry Hurst was wending his way lable and everlasting silence, and would be towards the small city hotel to which Hugh strictly adhered to. Therefore, amid the Gaynor had directed him, Mr. Eliot Foster confusion of ideas, regrets, wishes, aims, was engaged in deep and not complacent ambitions, and resentments, which reigned cogitation on the scene which had just taken in the breast of Henry Hurst, one impres- place. He was but little satisfied with sion was singularly distinct. It was, that if Henry Hurst, but he was still less satisfied he could do it with safety to himself, he with himself. As a younger man he would should particularly like to kill Mr. Eliot have roused himself and made amende honFoster. The young man was of a danger-ourable to his conscience, but he was too ous temperament, and his notion of punish- indolent for that sort of thing now; and ing any one who injured or annoyed him at when people and things did not suit him, all seriously seldom stopped, theoretically, he was apt to let them slide.' short of murder.

I wonder what will become of him,' It was also characteristic of Henry Hurst thought Mr. Eliot Foster; he is clever that though he loved Alice Wood after his and pushing, and will make his way, no fashion quite sincerely, and even strongly, he doubt; and yet he impresses me singularly never dwelt in the rage and trouble which unfavourably. Shall I open any communipossessed him upon the idea of her as a cation with his mother? Shall I write to her consolation. It might have been supposed guardedly, and tell her that I have disthat the isolation of them both, the slender charged my trust? Have I any reason or hold on the sympathies and charities of the right to do so, to break the compact, as she world possessed by either, would have meant it, or as I did? No, she has kept added to his love something of the sense of silence, so will I.' And Mr. Eliot Foster, mutual dependence, of sufficiency to each who had laid a sheet of paper on his desk, other, in which her purer, simpler, nobler taken up a pen, and drawn his grimy brassmind experienced an ineffable charm; but topped inkstand to within a convenient disthis was not the case. Henry Hurst enter- tance of his hand, pushed these preparatory tained no liberal and ennobling theories arrangements away from him and rose. about the dignity and the helpfulness, the There's no knowing what may happen,' worth and the unselfishness, of woman. He he said, making the commonplace admisloved Alice because she had a beautiful face, sion of a possibility familiar to us all in and a pure, fanciful, innocent, poetic tem- forced contemplation of the only human perament, which he had sufficient artistic event within the category of the absolutely sense to understand and artistic taste to ap- certain; I may die, and it is better now preciate; but that she could suffice to him there should be no record of this business.' in lieu of all the family ties of which he was Then he unlocked his iron safe, took from deprived never occurred to him, because he it a meagre packet of old yellowish letters, regarded that deprivation from an entirely and deposited them in the breast-pocket of materialistic point of view. That to win her his greatcoat, which hung behind the dusty and make her happy ought to suffice for his door. After some further search, he found life's ambition was as far from his thoughts, and added a small roll of extracts from newsbecause love to him was a mere ornament papers and sundry memoranda, saying to to be sewn on the fabric of life, the gratifi- himself, I suppose no one but myself recation of the senses and the fancy, with- members that Wallace ever existed, or left out any share in the higher meaning and to a wife and child the shameful inheritance purpose of the intellect and the conscience. of his name. I will take these home and Thus, the girl whose innocent heart was destroy them, and then no one can ever, all her lover's, whose day-dream was the hap- even accidentally, betray her but herself." piness hidden in the future for them both, Mr. Eliot Foster took the letters home with who never had a suspicion that that happi-him to the staid and eminently-respectable

villa at Hampstead, which represented, in very massive furniture and a quantity of plate which might safely challenge inspection by Silversmiths' Hall, the savings of the prosperous and undivided business of Foster of Gray's Inn. The lawyer burned the letters without reading them, merely loosening the ribbon with which they were tied for greater facility of conflagration; but he looked over the roll of newspaper extracts, and muttered as he added them to the little heap of ashes which littered the generally spotless brightness of his study fender,

that her mother had been ailing a little of late; a rare occurrence; for Mrs. Wood was a woman of strong constitution and insensitive nerves, who held illness, in her own case, in contempt, as more or less of a weakness to be acknowledged as little and repressed as much as possible. But she had been obliged to confess to not feeling quite well' lately, and to submit to the transfer of a few of her more fatiguing duties to her daughter. So that, altogether, the period of her youthful lover's absence was one of complicated trial to the girl, which drew her from her habitual dreaming to serious

'I wonder whether that sort of thing real-thought, and gave her a first insight into the ly runs in the blood!'

The few days of Henry Hurst's absence had passed heavily over the gentle head of Alice. To her fanciful mood the distance to which he had gone increased the sense and the pain of parting already, with all its uncertainty and the serious results which it might or must involve, very deep and agonising. Mrs. Wood was too busy, too completely occupied with the routine of her life, with its monotonous daily duties, which she liked, and its cares, which suited her temperament, to take much notice of her daughter's variable spirits. She had never entertained an idea that Mr. Eliot Foster meant to undertake any personal charge or responsibility in the case of Henry Hurst, and she made no doubt that his absence would be but brief.

pains and penalties of love, in which her girlish fancy had pictured naught but peace and joy, the glory of earth, the foretaste of heaven. To any one who had seen it for the first time then, Alice's face would have seemed wondrously and pathetically beautiful, in its purity, its patience, its look of hope, and yet of submissive sadness. Though Hugh Gaynor had seen that face often enough to be familiar with every phase of its loveliness and sweetness, he remarked it with keen and fresh admiration one day that he went to the school and announced himself as the bearer of a letter for Alice from Henry, enclosed to him, and the news that he would return on the following day. Not to Cheaver's,' said the now middleaged curate; Henry is coming to stay with me. I know all about the sort of thing he wants in Paris, and can put him into good hands there.'

'I was right, then,' said Mrs. Wood, in a quiet uninterested tone; Mr. Foster means to do nothing for him, and of course has told him nothing?'

'I presume not,' said Hugh Gaynor.

He would have taken him home when he was a child, or sent him to a first-rate school, and made a gentleman of him, if he intended to do anything particular for him, my dear,' the simple-minded but not unwise mother had said to the still more simpleminded daughter, when she had timidly ex- Alice said nothing; she was impatient to pressed a fear that Henry Hurst might be escape and read her letter. After a little detained in London, and his things' sent Hugh Gaynor took his leave, and the girl for, to the exclusion of any further leave- made her way to her favourite corner in the takings in Coventry. He will come back, churchyard. Here she had parted with never fear, Alice.' Then Alice took close Henry; here she should like him to find her cognisance of her mother, trying to discern when he should return from London, from whether she knew in its full extent the im- that visit which had been, she feared, proportance of that return to her, but found no ductive of much disappointment to him; trace of such knowledge, and in her con- here she would read and re-read his own siderate, gentle, self-sacrificing way, relin- account of it. But in this last expectation quished the chance of sympathy from the fear Alice was disappointed. The letter was that her mother might be harassed or dis- brief, and it contained no details; but its turbed by the uncertainty of her prospects, tone hurt Alice, and troubled her sorely. and the dimness and distance of a happy It was fierce and bitter, and something of termination to her engagement with Henry its fierceness and bitterness seemed to sully Hurst. We shall live on here quietly and happily as heretofore,' thought the girl; and when I can tell her about it without making her uneasy, I will do so.' Alice was the more ready to adopt this resolution

the expressions of fondness for herself, which nevertheless set her heart beating with delight. The day declined as the girl sat under the ash-tree, her hands clasped over her lover's letter, which lay open on

her knees, and her eyes cast down. Some- sterner, stronger counsel. Henry Hurst thing in the letter jarred with her ideal; thought Alice very pretty and bewitching she was too innocent, too unworldly to un- when she urged, in her musical voice, her derstand what it was, but a dim conscious- gentle, simple wisdom; and he told her so ness was upon her that this lover, whom in words which brought bright blushes to she regarded as so perfect, as so far beyond her face and happy tears to her eyes. But and above herself, might be a person whom though Henry Hurst kissed the one while she should be forced to fear as well as love. he merely sneered at the other, the effect There were tear-stains on her fair, faintly-produced on him by each was identical. tinted cheeks when she went into the house; Mr. Foster was always kind to my but her mother did not notice them; she was mother and me,' said Alice to Henry one a little tired, she said, and 'low' a strange day, when the hour of their parting — this admission indeed for Mrs. Wood; and time for an indefinite period- was very Alice put aside her vague trouble, keeping near; and you tell me he spoke kindly of it, as she said in her innocent heart, until us to you. We owe him much, Henry: the her prayers.' quiet respectable home we have had for so many years, the peace we have enjoyed. I am very grateful to him; I wish you would try to be a little grateful to him also.'