“Just so; but the law is such an old woman that she never knows how to express herself to any purpose.  I haven’t allowed the law to bind me.  I dare say you know the story.”

“About your two sons,—­and the property?  I think all the world knows the story.”

“I suppose it has been talked about a little,” said the squire, with a chuckle.  “My object has been to prevent the law from handing over my property to the fraudulent claims which my son’s creditors were enabled to make, and I have succeeded fairly well.  On that head I have nothing to regret.  Now your uncle is going to take other means.”

“Yes; he is going to take means which, are, at any rate, lawful.”

“But which will be tedious, and may not, perhaps, succeed.  He is intending to have an heir of his own.”

“That I believe is his purpose,” said Harry.

“There is no reason why he shouldn’t;—­but he mayn’t, you know.”

“He is not married yet.”

“No;—­he is not married yet.  And then he has also stopped the allowance he used to make you.”  Harry nodded assent.  “Now, all this is a great shame.”

“I think so.”

“The poor gentleman has been awfully bamboozled.”

“He is not so very old,” said Harry, “I don’t think he is more than fifty.”

“But he is an old goose.  You’ll excuse me, I know.  Augustus Scarborough got him up to London, and filled him full of lies.”

“I am aware of it.”

“And so am I aware of it.  He has told him stories as to your conduct with Mountjoy which, added to some youthful indiscretions of your own—­”

“It was simply because I didn’t like to hear him read sermons.”

“That was an indiscretion, as he had the power in his hands to do you an injury.  Most men have got some little bit of petty tyranny in their hearts.  I have had none.”  To this Harry could only bow.  “I let my two boys do as they pleased, only wishing that they should lead happy lives.  I never made them listen to sermons, or even to lectures.  Probably I was wrong.  Had I tyrannized over them, they would not have tyrannized over me as they have done.  Now I’ll tell you what it is that I propose to do.  I will write to your uncle, or will get Mr. Merton to write for me, and will explain to him, as well as I can, the depth, and the blackness, and the cruelty,—­the unfathomable, heathen cruelty, together with the falsehoods, the premeditated lies, and the general rascality on all subjects,—­of my son Augustus.  I will explain to him that, of all men I know, he is the least trustworthy.  I will explain to him that, if led in a matter of such importance by Augustus Scarborough, he will be surely led astray.  And I think that between us,—­between Merton and me, that is,—­we can concoct a letter that shall be efficacious.  But I will get Mountjoy also to go and see him, and explain to him out of his own mouth what in truth occurred that night when he and you fell out in the streets.  Mr. Prosper must be a more vindictive man than I take him to be in regard to sermons if he will hold out after that.”  Then Mr. Scarborough allowed him to go out, and if possible find the shooters somewhere about the park.