But there was no smile on the shroud-colored face of the inventor.

“The explanation is plausible” (Mr. Minford emphasized the word), “and I will not attempt to set it aside.  God alone knows all the motives of human action.  Now, to the second, and more serious implication of the letter.  I have visited your native village, and inquired into your early history.  Though you moved to the city over fifteen years ago, and have returned to your birthplace but once since, so far as I could ascertain—­”

“Allow me,” said Marcus.  “My absence from my old home may seem strange, but it is occasioned by no shame or disgrace.  My father, mother, and twin brother died and were buried there.  By my father’s failure, shortly before his death, the old family mansion passed out of his hands, and was afterward torn down to make room for a railway depot.  This extinction of my family—­for I am now left without a relation in the world, excepting a half-sister—­and this destruction of our old home, have made my native village horrible to me.  When I visited the scene of desolation, ten years ago, the village seemed to me like a huge graveyard, in every part of which some happiness of my boyhood was entombed; and I vowed that I would never go near it again.  In the matter of family recollections, I am exquisitely sensitive.”

“I respect your feelings, sir,” said the inventor, “and regret that I should be the means of reviving these painful recollections.  But I have, a duty to perform.”

“And I will no longer delay you in its performance.  Now be kind enough to let me know the worst at once.  I can stand it.”  Marcus unconsciously sat up more erect, as if to brace himself against a shock.

“On my arrival in the village, my first act was to seek out some of the oldest inhabitants.  I found that most of them distinctly remembered you, and your brother—­Aurelius, I think, was his name.  You will pardon me for telling you the exact result of my inquiries, but I found that these old inhabitants, without a single exception, gave you a very bad name, and your brother a very good one.”

Marcus was about to explain, that his brother and himself were images of each other; that the former was crafty, and full of mischief, and that he (Marcus) had been made, on fifty occasions, the innocent scapegoat of his brother’s little offences.  But he forbore.  He had cheerfully received reprimands, and even chastisements, for his brother while living; and he would not blacken his memory when dead.  He merely smiled a sad smile, and said, “Ah?”

“Many of the offences charged against you by these old gossips, were petty and excusable.  But there were others, committed by you when you were at or near manhood, exhibiting, if true—­understand, I say, if true—­a moral depravity for which no extenuation can be found.  Some of the charges were not sustained by adequate proofs, and those I set down as idle rumors.  But there was one of which the proof was abundant and most positive.  No less than five persons gave me circumstantial accounts—­all agreeing with each other—­of your betrayal and ruin of Lucy Anserhoff.”