Hurdlestone, whose high stern features, once seen,
could never be forgotten, roused Anthony from his train of gloomy
recollections, and called back his thoughts to the unpleasant business
that brought him there.

Mark did not at the first glance recognise his son in the tall
elegantly-dressed young man before him; and he growled out, "Who are
you, sir, and what do you want?"

"Mr. Hurdlestone," said Anthony respectfully, "I am your son."

The old man sat down in the chair. A dark cloud came over his brow, as
if he already suspected the nature of his son's mission, and he knitted
his straight bushy eyebrows so closely together that his small fiery
dark eyes gleamed like sparks from beneath the gloomy shade.

"My son; yes, yes. I've heard say that 'tis a wise son that knows his
own father. It must be a very wise father who could instinctively know
his own son. Certainly, I should never have recognised mine in the gay
magpie before me. But sit down, young sir, and tell me what brought you
here. Money, I suppose; money, the everlasting want that the extravagant
sons of pleasure strive to extort from the provident, who lay up during
the harvest of life a provision for the winter of age. If such be your
errand, young man, your time is wasted here. Anthony Hurdlestone, I have
nothing to give."

"Not even affection it would appear, to an only son."

"I owe you none."

"In what manner have I forfeited my natural claim upon your heart?"

"By transferring the duty and affection which you owed to me to another.
Go to him who has pampered your appetites, clothed you with soft
raiment, and brought you up daintily to lead the idle life of a
gentleman. I disown all relationship with a useless butterfly."

Anthony's cheek reddened with indignation. "It was not upon my own
account I sought you, sir. From my infancy I have been a neglected and
forsaken child, for whom you never showed the least parental regard.
Hard blows and harder words were the only marks of fatherly regard that
Anthony Hurdlestone ever received at your hands. To hear you curse me,
when, starving with cold and hunger, I have asked you for a morsel of
bread--to hear you wish me dead, and to see you watch me with hungry
eager eyes, as if in my wasted meagre countenance you wished to find a
prophetic answer--were sights and sounds of every-day occurrence. Could
such conduct as this beget love in your wretched child? Yet, God knows!"
exclaimed the young man, clas