you as my son. I
exempt you from the common drudgeries of the office, and will engage
masters to instruct you in the fashionable accomplishments which are
deemed necessary to complete the education of a gentleman."

I was mute with astonishment.

"Trifling as these things may appear to the man of science and the
candidate for literary honours, they are not without their use to the
professional student. The world judges so much by externals, that
nothing is despised which helps to flatter its prejudices and ensure
popularity. You are not too old to learn dancing, fencing and riding. I
should like you to excel in athletic sports and exercises."

"You are making game of me, uncle," said I, for I could not believe him
in earnest.

"By the living God! Geoffrey, I mean what I say."

I stood before him, gazing into his face like one in a dream. There was
a downright earnestness in his face which could not be mistaken. He was
no longer acting a part, but really meant what he said. Nor could I
doubt but that letter had wrought this sudden change in my favour.
Where, now, was all my high-souled resolutions? Human nature prevailed,
and I yielded to the temptation. There sat Robert Moncton, gazing
complacently upon me, from beneath those stern, dark brows, his
glittering eyes no longer freezing me with their icy shine, but
regarding me with a calm, approving smile: no longer the evil genius of
my childhood, but a munificent spirit intent to do me good.

Ah, I was young--very young, and the world in my narrow circle had
dealt hardly with me. I longed for freedom, for emancipation from
constant toil. This must plead an excuse for my criminal weakness.

Years of painful experience, in the ways and wiles of men, had not as
yet perfected the painful lesson taught me in after-years. Young,
ardent, and willing to believe the best I could of my species, I began
to think that I alone had been to blame; that I had wronged my uncle,
and thrust upon his shoulders the burden of injuries which I had
received from his son.

The evil influence of that son had been removed, and he was now willing
to be my friend; and I determined to bury the past in oblivion, and to
believe him really and truly so.

I shook him warmly by the hand, and entreated his forgiveness for the
hard thoughts I had entertained, and thanked him sincerely for his
offers of service.

The light faded from his eye. He looked gloomily, almost sadly into my
face, glowi