. Oh, that I had given more
heed to that voice of the soul! That still, small voice, which never
lies--that voice which no one can drown, without remorse and
self-condemnation.

Time brought with it the punishment I deserved, convincing me then, and
for ever, that no one can act against his own conviction of right,
without incurring the penalty due to his moral defalcation.

I dined alone with Mr. Moncton.

He asked me if I was pleased with the apartments he had selected for my
use. I was warm in my thanks, and he appeared satisfied.

After the cloth was drawn, he filled a bumper of wine, and pushed the
bottle over to me.

"Here's to your rising to the head of the profession, Geoffrey. Fill
your glass, my boy."

I drank part of the wine, and set the glass down on the table. It was
fine old Madeira. I had not been used to drink anything stronger than
tea and coffee, and I found it mounting to my head.

"I will not allow that, Geoffrey--you must honour my toast."

"I have done so, uncle, as far as I am able. I have had enough wine."

"Nonsense, boy! Don't you like it?"

"I hardly know. It makes me feel giddy and queer."

"Ha! ha! that's good"--chuckling and rubbing his hands.

"If I take more just now, I shall certainly be tipsy."

"What then?"

"It would be disgraceful. In your presence, too."

"What--were you never drunk?"

"Never, in my life."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"And never intoxicated--well, that's a good joke. Few young men of your
age could say that. Would you not like to increase your knowledge, and
be as wise as others?"

I shook my head.

"Ridiculous prudery. Come, fill your glass."

He drank off several glasses in succession; and for fear I should be
thought deficient in spirit; I followed his example. But the Rubicon
once crossed, to my surprise, I found that the wine had no effect upon
my senses; only serving to elevate my spirits a little, and make me
more sociable and communicative.

My uncle's stern face began to relax from its usual cold severity, and
I found that when warmed with wine, he could be a most intelligent and
agreeable companion. After conversing for some time on indifferent
subjects, he said:

"You think you remember your parents. I have their portraits. Perhaps
you would like to keep them in your own possession."

"No present you could make me, would be so valuable," I replied.

"No heroics," he said, going to a beautiful inlaid cabinet. "I detes