coming. But he had not been five minutes in his father's
room before he rushed to the subject. "You got among those birds of prey
again?" said his father.

"There was only one bird,--or at least two. A big bird and a small one."

"And you lost how much?" Then the captain told the precise sum. "And
Grey has lent it you?" The captain nodded his head. "Then you must ride
into Tretton and catch the mail to-night with a check to repay him. That
you should have been able in so short a time to have found a man willing
to fleece you! I suppose it's hopeless?"

"I cannot tell."

"Altogether hopeless."

"What am I to say, sir? If I make a promise it will go for nothing."

"For absolutely nothing."

"Then what would be the use of my promising?"

"You are quite logical, and look upon the matter in altogether a proper
light. As you have ruined yourself so often, and done your best to ruin
those that belong to you, what hope can there be? About this money that
I have left you, I do not know that anything farther can be said,--unless
I leave it all to an hospital. It is better that you should have it and
throw it away among the gamblers, than that it should fall into the
hands of Augustus. Besides, the demand is moderate. No doubt it is only
a beginning, but we will see."

Then he got out his check-book, and made Mountjoy himself write the
check, including the two sums which had been borrowed. And he dictated
the letter to Mr. Grey:

"MY DEAR GREY,--I return the money which Mountjoy has had from you,--two
hundred and twenty-seven pounds, and twenty. That, I think, is right.
You are the most foolish man I know with your money. To have given it to
such a scapegrace as my son Mountjoy! But you are the sweetest and
finest gentleman I ever came across. You have got your money now, which
is a great deal more than you can have expected or ought to have
obtained. However, on this occasion you have been in great luck.

"Yours faithfully,

"JOHN SCARBOROUGH."

This letter his son himself was forced to write, though it dealt
altogether with his own delinquencies; and yet, as he told himself, he
was not sorry to write it, as it would declare to Mr. Grey that he had
himself acknowledged at once his own sin. The only farther punishment
which his father exacted was that his son should himself ride into
Tretton and post the letter before he ate his dinner.

"I've got my money," said Mr. Grey, waving the check as he went into his
dre