He had, by accepting his father’s first story, altered the whole course of his life, abandoned his profession, and even paid large sums of money out of his own pocket for the maintenance of his elder brother.  A jury would probably award him some very considerable sum,—­if a jury could get hold of his father while still living.  No doubt the furniture and other property would remain, and might be held to be liable for the present owner’s laches.  But these two learned lawyers did not think that an action could be taken with any probability of success against the eldest son, with reference to his tables and chairs, when the Tretton estates should have become his.  As these learned lawyers had learned that old Mr. Scarborough was at this moment almost in articulo mortis, would it not be better that Augustus should apply to his elder brother to make him such compensation as the peculiarities of the case would demand?  But as this opinion did not reach Augustus till his father was dead, the first alternative proposed was of no use.

“I suppose, sir, we had better communicate with Mr. Scarborough?” Mr. Barry said to his partner, on his return.

“Not in my name,” Mr. Grey replied.  “I’ve put Mr. Scarborough in such a state that he is not allowed to see any business letter.  Sir William Brodrick is there now.”  But communications were made both to Mountjoy and to Augustus.  There was nothing for Mountjoy to do; his case was in Mr. Barry’s hands; nor could he take any steps till something should be done to oust him from Tretton.  Augustus, however, immediately went to work and employed his counsel, learned in the law.

“You will do something, I suppose, for poor Gus?” the old man said to his son one morning.  It was the last morning on which he was destined to awake in the world, and he had been told by Sir William and by Mr. Merton that it would probably be so.  But death to him had no terror.  Life to him, for many weeks past, had been so laden with pain as to make him look forward to a release from it with hope.  But the business of life had pressed so hard upon him as to make him feel that he could not tell what had been accomplished.

The adjustment of such a property as Tretton required, he thought, his presence, and, till it had been adjusted, he clung to life with a pertinacity which had seemed to be oppressive.  Now Mountjoy’s debts had been paid, and Mountjoy could be left a bit happier.  Having achieved so much, he was delighted to think that he might.  But there had come latterly a claim upon him equally strong,—­that he should wreak his vengeance upon Augustus.  Had Augustus abused him for keeping him in the dark so long, he would have borne it patiently.  He had expected as much.  But his son had ridiculed him, laughed at him, made nothing of him, and had at last told him to die out of the way.  He would, at any rate, do something before he died.

He had had his revenge, very bitter of its kind.  Augustus should be made to feel that he had not been ridiculous,—­not to be laughed at in his last days.  He had ruined his son, inevitably ruined him, and was about to leave him penniless upon the earth.  But now in his last moments, in his very last, there came upon him some feeling of pity, and in speaking of his son he once more called him “Gus.”