“Villain—­impostor—­cheat! you stand there convicted of an infamous attempt to impose yourself on me as my legitimate brother—­on my father as his legitimate son; but know that I disclaim you, sir.  What! the fine and gentle blood of my blessed mother to flow in the veins of the profligate monster who could give utterance to principles worthy of hell itself, and attempt to pour them into the ears and heart of his own sister!  Sir, I feel, and I thank God for it, that you are not the son of my blessed mother—­no; but you stand there a false and spurious knave, the dishonest instrument of some fraudulent conspiracy, concocted for the purpose of putting you into a position of inheriting a name and property to which you have no claim.  I ought, on the moment I first saw you, to have been guided by the instincts of my own heart, which prompted me to recoil from and disclaim you.  I know not, nor do I wish to know, in what low haunts of vice and infamy you have been bred; but one thing is certain, that, if it be within the limits of my power, you shall be traced and unmasked.  I now remember me that—­that—­there existed an early scandal—­yes, sir, I remember it, but I cannot even repeat it; be assured, however, that this inhuman and devilish attempt to poison my principles will prove the source of a retributive judgment on your head.  Begone, sir, and leave the house!”

The pallor of detected guilt, the consciousness that in this iniquitous lecture he had overshot the mark, and made a grievous miscalculation in pushing his detestable argument too far—­but, above all, the startling suspicions so boldly and energetically expressed by Lucy, the truth of which, as well as the apprehensions that filled him of their discovery, all united, made him feel as if he stood on the brink of a mine to which the train had been already applied.  And yet, notwithstanding all this, such was the natural force of his effrontery—­such the vulgar insolence and bitter disposition of his nature, that, instead of soothing her insulted feelings, or offering either explanation or apology, he could not restrain an impudent exhibition of ill-temper.

“You forget yourself, Lucy,” he replied; “you have no authority to order me out of this house, in which I stand much firmer than yourself.  Neither do I comprehend your allusions, nor regard your threats.  The proofs of my identity and legitimacy are abundant and irresistible.  As to the advice I gave you, I gave it like one who knows the world—­”

“No, sir,” she replied, indignantly; “you gave it like a man who knows only its vices.  It is sickening to hear every profligate quote his own experience of life, as if it were composed of nothing but crimes and vices, simply because they constitute the guilty phase of it with which he is acquainted.  But the world, sir, is not the scene of general depravity which these persons would present it.  No:  it is full of great virtues, noble actions, high principles; and, what is better still,