nd in his lessons.
You were strong enough, and bold enough to take your own part, and if I
mistake not, did take it. And pray, Sir, who was it that freed you from
the tyranny of Mr. Jones, when he found that the complaints you brought
against him were just?"

"But not until after I had been first condemned, and brutally
maltreated. The less said on that score, uncle, the better."

He laughed--his low, sarcastic, sneering laugh, but did not choose to
be angry.

"There are circumstances connected with your birth, Geoffrey, that
evidently were the cause of these slights. People will not pay the same
respect to a natural child, which they do to a legitimate one."

"Good God!" I exclaimed, starting from my chair. "You don't mean to
insinuate--you dare not say, that I am a bastard?"

"Such is the fact."

"It is a falsehood! invented to ruin me!" I exclaimed, defiantly. "One
of these days you shall be forced to prove it such."

"I shall be very happy to do so--if you will only give me the proofs."

"_Proofs!_" I exclaimed, bitterly, "they are in your own possession--or
you have destroyed them!"

"What interest can I have in trying to make you a bastard? Is the boy
mad?"

"You never act without a motive," I cried; "you know that I am heir to
a title, and property that you covet for yourself and your son!"

His pretended calmness was all gone. His pale face crimsoned with rage.
Yet it was wonderful how instantaneously he mastered his passion.

"Who told you this _probable_ story? Who put such absurd notions into
your head?"

"One, upon whose word I can rely. My friend, Mr. Harrison."

"I would like to ask Mr. Harrison what he knows of our family affairs,"
sneered Mr. Moncton. "He has proved himself a scoundrel by inventing
this pretty little romance to get up a quarrel between us, and rob you
of the only real friend you have. I will repay Mr. Harrison for this
base falsehood, one of these days."

I felt that I had, betrayed my friend, and perhaps by my foolish
rashness marred my own fortunes. Inwardly I cursed my imprudence, and
loaded myself with reproaches. Then the thought suggested itself,
"Could my uncle be right--was I indeed illegitimate?"

"No, no," I exclaimed, unconsciously aloud; "it is not true--I feel
that it is false. A base falsehood got up to rob me of my good
name--the only treasure left me by Providence when she deprived me of
my parents. Uncle," I exclaimed, standing erect before him, "I wi