r; but
the old man looked round at him sharply, and said,--

"That will do, Tulliver; you can go back to the shop. If Abrahams brings
that little lot again to-night, tell him I'll give five-and-nine an
ounce, not a fraction more."

Mr. Tulliver retired, leaving the door ajar ever so little; but the
penetrating black eyes of the master were quick to perceive this
manoeuvre.

"Will you be so good as to shut that door, sir, quite securely?" he said
to Gilbert. "That young man is very inquisitive; I'm afraid I've kept him
too long. People talk of old servants; but half the robberies in the
world are committed by old servants. Be seated, if you please, sir. You
find this room rather close, perhaps. Some people do; but I'm old and
chilly, and I can't live without a fire."

"I have come to you in great anxiety of mind," said Gilbert, as he seated
himself upon the only disengaged chair in the room, "and with some hope
that you may be able to set my mind at ease by affording me information
about Miss Marian Nowell."

"I can give you no information about her."

"Indeed!" cried Gilbert, with a bitter pang of disappointment; "and yet
you answered my advertisement."

"I did, because I have some reason to suppose this Marian Nowell may be
my granddaughter."

"That is quite possible."

"Can you tell me her father's name?"

"Percival Nowell. Her mother was a Miss Lucy Geoffry."

"Right," said the old man. "Percival Nowell was my only son--my only
child of late years. There was a girl, but she died early. He was my only
son, and his mother and I were foolish enough to be proud of his good
looks and his clever ways; and we brought him up a gentleman, sent him to
an expensive school, and after that to the University, and pinched
ourselves in every way for his sake. My father was a gentleman; and it
was only after I had failed as a professional man, through circumstances
which I need not explain to you now, that I took to this business. I
would have made any sacrifice in reason for that boy of mine. I wanted
him to be a gentleman, and to make his way in one of the learned
professions. After a great deal of chopping and changing, he fixed upon
the Bar, took chambers in the Temple, made me pay all the fees, and
pretended to study. But I soon found that he was leading a wild
dissipated life, and was never likely to be good for anything. He got
into debt, drew bills upon me, and behaved altogether in a most shameful
manner. When