During that visit, however, he had no chance.  Moultrie sat persistently, and so did Abel.  The clock pointed to eleven, and still they did not move.  It was fairly toward midnight when Abel rose to leave, and at the same moment Sligo Moultrie rose also.  Abel bade the ladies good-evening, and passed out as if Moultrie were close by him.  But that young man remained standing by the sofa upon which Grace Plumer was seated, and said quietly to Abel,

“Good-evening, Newt!”

Grace Plumer looked at him also, with the bright black eyes, and blushed.

For a moment Abel Newt’s heart seemed to stand still!  An expression of some bitterness must have swept over his face, for Mrs. Plumer stepped toward him, as he stood with his hand upon the door, and said,

“Are you unwell?”

The cloud dissolved in a forced smile.

“No, thank you; not at all!” and he looked surprised, as if he could not imagine why any one should think so.

He did not wait longer, and the next moment was in the street.

Mrs. Plumer also left the room almost immediately after his departure.  Sligo Moultrie seated himself by his companion.

“My dear Grace, did you see that look?”

“Yes.”

“He suspects the truth,” returned Sligo Moultrie; and he might have added more, but that his lips at that instant were otherwise engaged.

Abel more than suspected the truth.  He was sure of it, and the certainty made him desperate.  He had risked so much upon the game!  He had been so confident!  As he half ran along the street he passed many things rapidly in his mind.  He was like a seaman in doubtful waters, and the breeze was swelling into a gale.

Turning out of Broadway he ran quickly to his door, opened it, and leaped up stairs.

To his great surprise his lamp was lighted and a man was sitting reading quietly at his table.  As Abel entered his visitor closed his book and looked up.

“Why, Uncle Lawrence,” said the young man, “you have a genius for surprises!  What on earth are you doing in my room?”

His uncle said, only half smiling,

“Abel, we are both bachelors, and bachelors have no hours.  I want to talk with you.”

Abel looked at his guest uneasily; but he put down his hat and lighted a cigar; then seated himself, almost defiantly, opposite his uncle, with the table between them.

“Now, Sir; what is it?”

Lawrence Newt paused a moment, while the young man still calmly puffed the smoke from his mouth, and calmly regarded his uncle.

“Abel, you are not a fool.  You know the inevitable results of certain courses.  I want to fortify your knowledge by my experience.  I understand all the temptations and excitements that carry you along.  But I don’t like your looks, Abel; and I don’t like the looks of other people when they speak of you and your father.  Remember, we are of the same blood.  Heaven knows its own mysteries!  Your father and I were sons of one woman.  That is a tie which we can neither of us escape, if we wanted to.  Why should you ruin yourself?”