“I will give you conclusive proof, Hector.  Read this.”

Allan Roscoe took from his pocket a letter, without an envelope.  One glance served to show Hector that it was in the handwriting of his late father, or, at any rate, in a handwriting surprisingly like it.

He began to read it with feverish haste.

The letter need not find a place here.  The substance of it had been accurately given by Mr. Allan Roscoe.  Apparently, it corroborated his every statement.

The boy looked up from its perusal, his face pale and stricken.

“You see that I have good authority for my statement,” said Mr. Roscoe.

“I can’t understand it,” said Hector, slowly.

“I need only add,” said Mr. Roscoe, apparently relieved by the revelation, “that my brother did not repose confidence in me in vain.  I accept, as a sacred charge, the duty he imposed upon me.  I shall provide for you and look after your education.  I wish to put you in a way to prepare yourself for a useful and honorable career.  As a first step, I intend, on Monday next, to place you in an excellent boarding school, where you will have exceptional privileges.”

Hector listened, but his mind was occupied by sad thoughts, and he made no comment.

“I have even selected the school with great care,” said Mr. Roscoe.  “It is situated at Smithville, and is under the charge of Socrates Smith, A. M., a learned and distinguished educator.  You may go now.  I will speak with you on this subject later.”

Hector bowed.  After what he had heard, his interest in other matters was but faint.

“I shall be glad to get him out of the house,” thought Allan Roscoe.  “I never liked him.”

CHAPTER IV.

A skirmish.

Hector walked out of the house in a state of mental bewilderment not easily described.  Was he not Hector Roscoe, after all?  Had he been all his life under a mistake?  If this story were true, who was he, who were his parents, what was his name?  Why had the man whom he had supposed to be his father not imparted to him this secret?  He had always been kind and indulgent; he had never appeared to regard the boy as an alien in blood, but as a dearly loved son.  Yet, if he had, after all, left him unprovided for, he had certainly treated Hector with great cruelty.

“I won’t believe it,” said Hector, to himself.

“I won’t so wrong my dear father’s memory at the bidding of this man, whose interest it is to trump up this story, since he and his son become the owners of a great estate in my place.”

Just then Guy advanced toward Hector with a malicious smile upon his face.  He knew very well what a blow poor Hector had received, for he was in his father’s confidence, and he was mean enough, and malicious enough, to rejoice at it.

“What’s the matter with you, Hector?” he asked, with a grin.  “You look as if you had lost your last friend.”