"That is what the law intends, I suppose," said Harry.

"Just so; but the law is such an old woman that she never knows how to
express herself to any purpose. I haven't allowed the law to bind me. I
dare say you know the story."

"About your two sons,--and the property? I think all the world knows the
story."

"I suppose it has been talked about a little," said the squire, with a
chuckle. "My object has been to prevent the law from handing over my
property to the fraudulent claims which my son's creditors were enabled
to make, and I have succeeded fairly well. On that head I have nothing
to regret. Now your uncle is going to take other means."

"Yes; he is going to take means which, are, at any rate, lawful."

"But which will be tedious, and may not, perhaps, succeed. He is
intending to have an heir of his own."

"That I believe is his purpose," said Harry.

"There is no reason why he shouldn't;--but he mayn't, you know."

"He is not married yet."

"No;--he is not married yet. And then he has also stopped the allowance
he used to make you." Harry nodded assent. "Now, all this is a great
shame."

"I think so."

"The poor gentleman has been awfully bamboozled."

"He is not so very old," said Harry, "I don't think he is more than
fifty."

"But he is an old goose. You'll excuse me, I know. Augustus Scarborough
got him up to London, and filled him full of lies."

"I am aware of it."

"And so am I aware of it. He has told him stories as to your conduct
with Mountjoy which, added to some youthful indiscretions of your own--"

"It was simply because I didn't like to hear him read sermons."

"That was an indiscretion, as he had the power in his hands to do you an
injury. Most men have got some little bit of petty tyranny in their
hearts. I have had none." To this Harry could only bow. "I let my two
boys do as they pleased, only wishing that they should lead happy lives.
I never made them listen to sermons, or even to lectures. Probably I was
wrong. Had I tyrannized over them, they would not have tyrannized over
me as they have done. Now I'll tell you what it is that I propose to do.
I will write to your uncle, or will get Mr. Merton to write for me, and
will explain to him, as well as I can, the depth, and the blackness, and
the cruelty,--the unfathomable, heathen cruelty, together with the
falsehoods, the premeditated lies, and the general rascality on all
subjects,--of my son Augustus. I will explain to