“Richard,” said my uncle, staring ahead of him, “I came to offer you a home, and you insult me brutally, as you have done unreproved all your life.  And yet no one shall say of me that I shirk my duty.  But first I must ask you if there is aught else you desire of me.”

“The black boy, Hugo, is mine,” I said.  I had no great love for Hugo, save for association’s sake, and I had one too many servants as it was; but to rescue one slave from Grafton’s clutches was charity.

“You shall have him,” he replied, “and your chaise, and your wardrobe, and your horses, and whatever else I have that belongs to you.  As I was saying, I will not shirk my duty.  The memory of my dear father, and of what he would have wished, will not permit me to let you go a-begging.  You shall be provided for out of the estate, despite what you have said and done.”

This was surely the quintessence of a rogue’s imagination.  Instinctively I shrank from him.  With a show of piety that ’turned me sick he continued: 

“Let God witness that I carry out my father’s will!”

“Stop there, Grafton Carvel!” I cried; “you shall not take His name in vain.  Under this guise of holiness you and your accomplice have done the devil’s own work, and the devil will reward you.”

This reference to Mr. Allen, I believe, frightened him.  For a second only did he show it.

“My—­my accomplice, sir!” he stammered.  And then righting himself:  “You will have to explain this, by Heaven.”

“In ample time your plot shall be laid bare, and you and his Reverence shall hang, or lie in chains.”

“You threaten, Mr. Carvel?” he shouted, nearly stepping off the porch in his excitement.

“Nay, I predict,” I replied calmly.  And I went down the steps and out of the gate, he looking after me.  Before I had turned the corner of Freshwater Lane, he was in the seat, and fanning himself with his hat.

I went straight to Mr. Swain’s chambers in the Circle, where I found the good barrister and Captain Daniel in their shirt-sleeves, seated between the windows in the back room.  Mr. Swain was grave enough when he heard of my talk with Grafton, but the captain swore I was my father’s son (for the fiftieth time since I had come back), and that a man could no more help flying at Grafton’s face than Knipe could resist his legs; or Cynthia his back, if he went into her stall.  I had scarce finished my recital, when Mr. Renwick, the barrister’s clerk, announced Mr. Tucker, which caused Mr. Swain to let out a whistle of surprise.

“So the wind blows from that quarter, Daniel,” said he.  “I thought so.”