far.
Percival Nowell took things as coolly as it was his habit to take
everything, while his father carefully concealed whatever deeper feeling
might be stirred in the depths of his heart by this unexpected return.

"You do not ask any questions about the fate of your only child," the
old man said, by-and-by.

"My dear father, that is of course a subject of lively interest to me;
but I did not suppose that you could be in a position to give me any
information upon that point."

"I do happen to know something about your daughter, but not much."

Jacob Nowell went on to tell his son all that he had heard from Gilbert
Fenton respecting Marian's marriage. Of his own advertisements, and
wasted endeavours to find her, he said nothing.

"And this fellow whom she has jilted is pretty well off, I suppose?"
Percival said thoughtfully.

"He is an Australian merchant, and, I should imagine, in prosperous
circumstances."

"Foolish girl! And this Holbrook is no doubt an adventurer, or he would
scarcely have married her in such a secret way. Have you any wish that
she should be found?"

"Yes, I have a fancy for seeing her before I die. She is my own flesh and
blood, like you, and has not injured me as you have. I should like to see
her."

"And if she happened to take your fancy, you would leave her all your
money, I suppose?"

"Who told you that I have money to leave?" cried the old man sharply.
"Have I not said that I am a poor man, hopelessly impoverished by your
extravagance?"

"Bah, my dear father, that is all nonsense. My extravagance is a question
of nearly twenty years ago. If I had swamped all you possessed in those
days--which I don't for a moment believe--you have had ample time to make
a fresh fortune since then. You would never have lived all those years in
Queen Anne's Court, except for the sake of money-making. Why, the place
stinks of money. I know your tricks: buying silver from men who are in
too great a hurry to sell it to be particular about the price; lending
money at sixty per cent, a sixty which comes to eighty before the
transaction is finished. A man does not lead such a life as yours for
nothing. You are rolling in money, and you mean to punish me by leaving
it all to Marian."

The silversmith grew pale with anger during this speech of his son's.

"You are a consummate scoundrel," he said, "and are at liberty to think
what you please. I tell you, once for all, I am as poor as Job. But if I
ha