There was in this a tacit allusion to his father’s speedy death which was grim enough; but the father passed it by without any expression of displeasure.  He certainly owed much to his younger son, and was willing to pay it by quiescence.  Let them both forbear.  Such was the language which he held to himself in thinking of his younger son.  Augustus was certainly behaving well to him.  Not a word of rebuke had passed his lips as to the infamous attempt at spoliation which had been made.  The old squire felt grateful for his younger son’s conduct, but yet in his heart of hearts he preferred the elder.

“He has denuded me of every penny,” said Augustus, “and I must ask you to refund me something of what has gone.”

“He has kept me very bare.  A man with so great a propensity for getting rid of money I think no father ever before had to endure.”

“You have had the last of it.”

“I do not know that.  If I live, and he lets me know his whereabouts, I cannot leave him penniless.  I do feel that a great injustice has been done him.”

“I don’t exactly see it,” said Augustus.

“Because you’re too hard-hearted to put yourself in another man’s place.  He was my eldest son.”

“He thought that he was.”

“And should have remained so had there been a hope for him,” said the squire, roused to temporary anger.  Augustus only shrugged his shoulders.  “But there is no good talking about it.”

“Not the least in the world.  Mr. Grey, I suppose, knows the truth at last.  I shall have to get three or four thousand pounds from you, or I too must resort to the Jews.  I shall do it, at any rate, under better circumstances than my brother.”

Some arrangement was at last made which was satisfactory to the son, and which we must presume that the father found to be endurable.  Then the son took his leave, and went back to London, with the understood intention of pushing the inquiries as to his brother’s existence and whereabouts.

The sudden and complete disappearance of Captain Scarborough struck Mrs. Mountjoy with the deepest awe.  It was not at first borne in upon her to believe that Captain Mountjoy Scarborough, an officer in the Coldstreams, and the acknowledged heir to the Tretton property, had vanished away as a stray street-sweeper might do, or some milliner’s lowest work-woman.  But at last there were advertisements in all the newspapers and placards on all the walls, and Mrs. Mountjoy did understand that the captain was gone.  She could as yet hardly believe that he was no longer heir to Tretton:  and in such short discussions with Florence as were necessary on the subject she preferred to express no opinion whatever as to his conduct.  But she would by no means give way when urged to acknowledge that no marriage between Florence and the captain was any longer to be regarded as possible.  While the captain was away the matter should be left as