old Mr.
Bolton what was the money value of your rights. It is a question to be
settled as easily as the price of a ton of coals or a joint of beef. But
you must understand that I have not interfered.'

'I am quite aware of that, sir.'

'As for the money, something over a third of it is in my own hands. I
have not been extravagant myself, and have saved so much. The remainder
will come out of Mr. Bolton's bank, and will be lent on mortgage. I
certainly shall not have cause for extravagance now, living here alone;
and shall endeavour to free the estate from the burden by degrees. When
I die, it will, in accordance with my present purpose, go to your cousin
George.' As this was said, John thought he perceived something like a
quiver in his father's voice, which, up to that point, had been hard,
clear, and unshaken. 'As to that, however, I do not intend to pledge
myself,' he continued. 'The estate will now be my own, subject to the
claim from Messrs. Bolton's bank. I don't know that there is anything
else to be said.'

'Not about business, sir.'

'And it is business, I suppose, that has brought you here,--and to
Cambridge. I do not know what little things you have of your own in the
house.'

'Not much, sir.'

'If there be anything that you wish to take, take it. But with you now,
I suppose, money is the only possession that has any value.'

'I should like to have the small portrait of you,--the miniature.'

'The miniature of me,' said the father, almost scoffingly, looking up at
his son's face, suspiciously. And yet, though he would not show it, he
was touched. Only if this were a ruse on the part of the young man, a
mock sentiment, a little got-up theatrical pretence,--then,--then how
disgraced he would be in his own estimation at having been moved by such
mockery!

The son stood square before his father, disdaining any attempt to evince
a supplicating tenderness either by his voice or by his features. 'But,
perhaps, you have a special value for it,' he said.

'No, indeed. It is others, not oneself, that ought to have such
trifles,--that is, if they are of value at all.'

'There is none but myself that can care much for it.'

'There is no one to care at all. No one else that is,' he added, wishing
to avoid any further declaration. 'Take that or anything else you want
in the house. There will be things left, I suppose,--clothes and books
and suchlike.'

'Hardly anything, sir. Going so far, I had better give