illegitimacy had been unfixed and doubtful.  Latterly it had verged toward more thorough belief as the creditors had taken their money,—­less than a third of what would have been theirs had the power remained with them of recovering their full debt.  The creditors had thus proved their belief, and they were a people not likely to believe such a statement without some foundation.  But at any rate he had conceived it to be impossible that his own father should go back from his first story, and again make himself out to be doubly a liar and doubly a knave.

But if it were so, what should he do?  Was it not the case that in such event he would be altogether ruined,—­a penniless adventurer with his profession absolutely gone from him?  What little money he had got together had been expended on behalf of Mountjoy,—­a sprat thrown out to catch a whale.  Everything according to the present tidings had been left to Mountjoy.  He had only half known his father, who had turned against him with virulence because of his unkindness.  Who could have expected that a man in such a condition should have lived so long, and have been capable of a will so powerful?  He had not dreamed of a hatred so inveterate as his father’s for him.

He received news also from Tretton that his father was not now expected by any one to live long.

“It may be a week, the doctors say, and it is hardly possible that he should remain alive for another month.”  Such was the news which reached him from his own emissary at Tretton.  What had he better do in the emergency of the moment?

There was only one possibly effective step that he could take.  He might, of course, remain tranquil, and accept what chance might give him, when his father should have died.  But he might at once go down to Tretton and demand an interview with the dying man.  He did not think that his father, even on his death-bed, would refuse to see him.  His father’s pluck was indomitable, and he thought that he could depend on his own pluck.  At any rate he resolved that he would immediately go to Tretton and take his chance.  He reached the house about the middle of the day, and at once sent his name up to his father.  Miss Scarborough was sitting by her brother’s bedside, and from time to time was reading to him a few words.  “Augustus!” he said, as soon as the servant had left the room.  “What does Augustus want with me?  The last time he saw me he bade me die out of hand if I wished to retrieve the injury I had done him.”

“Do not think of that now, John,” his sister said.

“As God is my judge, I will think of it to the last moment.  Words such as those spoken, by a son to his father, demand a little thought.  Were I to tell you that I did not think of them, would you not know that I was a hypocrite?”

“You need not speak of them, John.”

“Not unless he came here to harass my last moments.  I strove to do very much for him;—­you know with what return.  Mountjoy has been, at any rate, honest and straightforward; and, considering all things, not lacking in respect.  I shall, at any rate, have some pleasure in letting Augustus know the state of my mind.”