“Nor what the punishment is to be.  I have learned that you have left to Mountjoy all the furniture in the house.”

“Yes, poor boy!—­when I found that you had turned him out.”

“I never turned him out,—­not till your house was open to receive him.”

“You would not have wished him to go into the poor-house?”

“I did the very best for him.  I kept him going when there was no one else to give him a shilling.”

“He must have had a bitter time,” said the father.  “I hope it may have done him good.”

“I think I behaved to him just as an elder brother should have done.  He was not particularly grateful, but that was not my fault.”

“Still, I thought it best to leave him the old sticks about the place.  As he was to have the property, it was better that he should have the sticks.”  As he said this he managed to turn himself round and look his son full in the face.  Such a look as it was!  There was the gleam of victory, and the glory of triumph, and the venom of malice.  “You wouldn’t have them separated, would you?”

“I have heard of some farther trick of this kind.”

“Just the ordinary way in which things ought to be allowed to run.  Mr. Grey, who is a very good man, persuaded me.  No man ought to interfere with the law.  An attempt in that direction led to evil.  Mountjoy is the eldest son, you know.”

“I know nothing of the kind.”

“Oh dear, no! there is no question at all as to the date of my marriage with your mother.  We were married in quite a straightforward way at Rummelsburg.  When I wanted to save the property from those harpies, I was surprised to find how easily I managed it.  Grey was a little soft there:  an excellent man, but too credulous for a lawyer.”

“I do not believe a word of it.”

“You’ll find it all go as naturally as possible when I have ceased to stay and be troublesome.  But one thing I must say in your favor.”

“What do you mean?”

“I never could have managed it all unless you had consented to that payment of the creditors.  Indeed, I must say, that was chiefly your own doing.  When you first suggested it, I saw what a fine thing you were contriving for your brother.  I should think, after that, of leaving it all so that you need not find out the truth when I am dead.  I do think I had so managed it that you would have had the property.  Mountjoy, who has some foolish feeling about his mother, and who is obstinate as a pig, would have fought it out; but I had so contrived that you would have had it.  I had sealed up every document referring to the Rummelsburg marriage, and had addressed them all to you.  I couldn’t have made it safer, could I?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You would have been enabled to destroy every scrap of the evidence which will be wanted to prove your brother’s legitimacy.  Had I burned the papers I could not have put them more beyond poor Mountjoy’s reach.  Now they are quite safe in Mr. Grey’s office; his clerk took them away with him.  I would not leave them here with Mountjoy because,—­well,—­you might come, and he might be murdered!” Now Mr. Scarborough had had his revenge.