is money.  As to a profession, the uncle who took you from my protection had best choose one for his adopted son.  There are several livings in my gift.  If you should make choice of the Church, they shall be yours.  This would make property which has hitherto been of little value pay a good interest.  As to being dependent upon your uncle, the thought amused me.  If he feels you a burden, it is self-inflicted, and he must be content to bear it.  You need not look to me for pecuniary assistance; I shall yield you none.  An industrious young man can always free himself from a galling yoke.

“Your father and friend,

Marcus Hurdlestone.”

Upon the whole, Anthony was pleased with his father’s letter.  It displayed more of human feeling than he expected; besides, he had not rejected his claims as a son.  He had acknowledged him to be his heir.  It is true, he had forbidden him his presence, and flung back his proffered affection; but he had spoken of him with respect, and his son was grateful even for this stinted courtesy.  He would one day be able to repay his uncle’s kindness in a more substantial manner than words; and he flew to Algernon’s study with a beating heart and flushed cheeks.

“What news, my boy?” said the Colonel, looking up from the artificial fly he was making.  “Have you caught a trout or a salmon?”

“Better still.  I have got a letter from my father!”

“No!” said the Colonel, letting go his fishing-tackle.  “Is that possible?”

“Here it is; read for yourself.”  And he put the letter into Algernon’s hand.

“Well, Tony, lad, this is indeed better than I expected,” he said, grasping his nephew warmly by the hand.  “But stay; what does this paragraph mean?  Have you found my love, Anthony, such a galling yoke?”

“My father has misunderstood me,” replied the lad, his cheeks glowing with crimson.  “I told him that it was not just for me to be dependent on your bounty.”

“’Tis a crabbed old sinner,” said the Colonel, laughing, “I am more astonished at his letter than anything that has happened to me since he robbed me of your mother.”

Anthony looked inquiringly at his uncle.

“Come, nephew, sit down by me, and I will relate to you a page out of my own history, which will not only show you what manner of man this father of yours is, but explain to you the position in which we are both placed regarding him; clearing up what must have appeared to you very mysterious.”

With intense interest the amiable son of this most execrable father listened to the tale already told of his mother’s wrongs.  How often did the crimes of the parent dye the cheeks of the child with honest indignation, or pale them with fear?  How did his love for his generous uncle increase in a tenfold degree, when he revealed the treachery that had been practised against him!  How often did he ask himself—­“Is it possible that he can love the son of this cruel brother?” But then he was also the son of the woman he had loved so tenderly for years, whose memory he held in the deepest veneration; was like him in person, and, with sounder judgment and better abilities, resembled him in mind also.