“I have come to you in great anxiety of mind,” said Gilbert, as he seated himself upon the only disengaged chair in the room, “and with some hope that you may be able to set my mind at ease by affording me information about Miss Marian Nowell.”

“I can give you no information about her.”

“Indeed!” cried Gilbert, with a bitter pang of disappointment; “and yet you answered my advertisement.”

“I did, because I have some reason to suppose this Marian Nowell may be my granddaughter.”

“That is quite possible.”

“Can you tell me her father’s name?”

“Percival Nowell.  Her mother was a Miss Lucy Geoffry.”

“Right,” said the old man.  “Percival Nowell was my only son—­my only child of late years.  There was a girl, but she died early.  He was my only son, and his mother and I were foolish enough to be proud of his good looks and his clever ways; and we brought him up a gentleman, sent him to an expensive school, and after that to the University, and pinched ourselves in every way for his sake.  My father was a gentleman; and it was only after I had failed as a professional man, through circumstances which I need not explain to you now, that I took to this business.  I would have made any sacrifice in reason for that boy of mine.  I wanted him to be a gentleman, and to make his way in one of the learned professions.  After a great deal of chopping and changing, he fixed upon the Bar, took chambers in the Temple, made me pay all the fees, and pretended to study.  But I soon found that he was leading a wild dissipated life, and was never likely to be good for anything.  He got into debt, drew bills upon me, and behaved altogether in a most shameful manner.  When I sent for him, and remonstrated with him upon his disgraceful conduct, he told me that I was a miser, that I spent my life in a dog-kennel for the sake of hoarding money, and that I deserved nothing better than his treatment of me.  I may have been better off at this time than I had cared to let him know, for I had soon found out what a reckless scoundrel I had to deal with; but if he had behaved decently, he would have found me generous and indulgent enough.  As it was, I told him to go about his business, and never to expect another sixpence from me as long as he lived.  How he managed to exist after this, I hardly know.  He was very much mixed up with a disreputable lot of turf-men, and I believe he made money by betting.  His mother robbed me for him, I found out afterwards, and contrived to send him a good deal of money at odd times.  My business as a dealer in second-hand silver was better then than it is now, and I had had so much money passing through my hands that it was pretty easy for my wife to cheat me.  Poor soul! she has been dead and gone these fifteen years, and I have freely forgiven her.  She loved that young man to distraction.  If he had wanted a step to reach the object of his wishes, she would have laid herself down in the dust