“You are quite sure Roscoe Castle belongs to you, are you, Hector?”

“That’s the law.  Father left no will, and so the estate comes to me.”

“Ho! ho!” laughed Guy, with malicious glee.

“If you only knew what I know, you wouldn’t crow quite so loud.  It’s a splendid joke.”

There was something in this that attracted Hector’s attention, though he was not disposed to attach much importance to what Guy said.

“If I only knew what you know!” he repeated.

“Yes; that’s what I said.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll know it soon enough, and I can tell you one thing, it’ll surprise you.  It’ll take down your pride a peg or two.”

Hector stared at his cousin in unaffected surprise.  What could Guy possibly mean?  Had his father perhaps made a will, and left the estate to some one else—­his uncle, for example?  Was this the meaning of Guy’s malicious mirth?

“I don’t know to what you refer,” he said; “but if it’s anything that is of importance to me, I ought to know it.  What is it?”

“Go and ask father,” said Guy, with a tantalizing grin.

“I will,” answered Hector, “and without delay.”

He turned to enter the house, but Guy had not exhausted his malice.  He was in a hurry to triumph over Hector, whom he disliked heartily.

“I don’t mind telling you myself,” he said.

“You are not what you suppose.  You’re a lowborn beggar!”

He had no sooner uttered these words, than Hector resented the insult.  Seizing the whip from Guy, he grasped him by the collar, flung him to the ground and lashed him with it.

“There,” said he, with eyes aflame, “take that, Guy Roscoe, and look out how you insult me in future!”

Guy rose slowly from the ground, pale with fury, and, as he brushed the dust from his clothes, ejaculated: 

“You’ll pay dearly for this, Hector!”

“I’ll take the consequences,” said Hector, as coldly as his anger would allow.  “Now, I shall go to your father and ask the meaning of this.”

CHAPTER III.

Hector learns A secret.

Hector entered the library with some impetuosity.  Usually he was quiet and orderly, but he had been excited by the insinuations of Guy, and he was impatient to know what he meant—­if he meant anything.

Allan Roscoe looked up, and remarked, with slight sarcasm: 

“This is not a bear garden, Hector.  You appear to think you are on the playground, judging by your hasty motions.”

“I beg your pardon, uncle,” said Hector, who never took amiss a rebuke which he thought deserved.  “I suppose I forgot myself, being excited.  I beg your pardon.”

“What is the cause of your excitement?” asked Mr. Roscoe, surveying the boy keenly.

“Guy has said something that I don’t understand.”