ond, come, carry me a-pick-a-back--son of a respectable
pawnbroker of Whitechapel--how many paramours was the worthy old
gentleman in the habit of keeping? Respectable scion of such
respectable parent, who finished his studies by a little tramping, a
little thieving, a little swindling, a little forging--I heartily thank
you for the amusement you have afforded me."

"Oh, my good brother, deceive not yourself! I repeat that I have
tramped, thieved, swindled, ay, and forged. And to whom do I owe all
this ignominy? To you--to you--to you. Yet I do not hate you very,
very much. You showed some fraternal feeling when they seared my back
with the indelible scar of disgrace. I have lied to you, but it suited
my purpose!"

"And I have given you the confidence due to a liar."

"What! still incredulous, brother of mine! Do you know these--and
these?"

The handwriting was singular, and very elegant. I knew the letters at
once. They were the somewhat affected amatory effusions of that superb
woman, Mrs Causand, whom I have described in the early part of this
life. They spoke of Ralph,--of Ralph Rattlin--and described, with
tolerable accuracy, my singular birth at the Crown Inn, at Reading.

There were three letters. The two first that I read contained merely
passionate protestations of affection; the third, that had reference to
myself, spoke darkly. After much that is usual in the ardent style of
unhallowed love, it went on, as nearly as I can recollect, in these
words--"I have suffered greatly--suffered with you, and for you. The
child is, however, now safe, and well provided for. It is placed with a
decent woman of the name of Brandon, Rose Brandon. A discovery now is
impossible. We have managed the thing admirably. The child is fair,"
etcetera, etcetera.

In the midst of my agitation I remarked that the writer did not speak of
the infant as "my child," nor with the affection of a mother--and yet,
without a great stretch of credulity, the inference seemed plain that
she was the parent of it, though not a fond one.

"Mysterious man! who are you, and who am I?"

"Your disgraced, your discarded, yet your legitimate brother. More it
suits me not now that you should know. I am weak in frame, but I am
steel in purpose. You, you have been the bane of my life. Since your
clandestine birth, our father loved me no more. I will have my broad
acres back--I will--they are mine--and you only stand between me an