almost
supernatural. However, all right now, my dear boy, and I congratulate
you. Your father is a very strange person: he has lived like a despot
among slaves all his life, and will not be thwarted, I can tell you.
If you say a word in contradiction he'll disinherit you:--terrible
old tiger, I must say. If it had not been for your sake, I should have
done with him long ago. He seems to think the world ought to be at his
feet. Depend upon it, Japhet, there is no hurry about seeing him;--and
see him you shall not, until we have every proof of your identity ready
to produce to him. I hope you have the bump of veneration strong, Japhet,
and plenty of filial duty, or you will be kicked out of the house in a
week. D--n me, if he didn't call me an old thief of a lawyer."

"Indeed, sir," replied I, laughing; "I must apologise to you for my
father's conduct."

"Never mind, Japhet; I don't care about a trifle; but why don't you ask
after your friends?"

"I have longed so to do, sir," replied I. "Lord Windermear--"

"Is quite well, and will be most happy to see you."

"Lady de Clare, and her daughter--"

"Lady de Clare has entered into society again, and her daughter, as you
call her--your Fleta, alias Cecilia de Clare--is the belle of the
metropolis. But now, sir, as I have answered all your interrogatories,
and satisfied you upon the most essential points, will you favour me
with a narrative of your adventures (for adventures I am sure you must
have had) since you ran away from us all in that ungrateful manner."

"Most certainly, sir, I will; and, as you say, I have had adventures.
But it really will be a long story."

"Then we'll dine here, and pass the evening together--so that's settled."

Chapter LXXI

In which I am let into more particulars relative to my father's
history.

I dismissed the coach, while Mr Masterton gave his orders for dinner, and
we then turned the key of the door to avoid intrusion, and I commenced.
It was nearly dinner-time before I had finished my story.

"Well, you really appear to be born for getting into scrapes, and getting
out of them again in a miraculous way," observed Mr Masterton. "Your
life would make a novel."

"It would indeed, sir," replied I. "I only hope, like all novels, it
will wind up well."

"So do I; but dinner's ready, Japhet, and after dinner we'll talk the
matter over again, for there are some points upon which I require some
explanation."

We