him."

But before night came the squire had been talked over, and had agreed to
see his son. "The interview will be easy enough for me," he had said,
"but I cannot imagine what he will get from me. But let him come as he
will."

Augustus spent much of the intervening time in discussing the matter
with his aunt. But not a word on the subject was spoken by him to
Mountjoy, whom he met at dinner, and with whom he spent the evening in
company with Mr. Merton. The two hours after dinner were melancholy
enough. The three adjourned to the smoking-room, and sat there almost
without conversation. A few words were said about the hunting, but
Mountjoy had not hunted this winter. There were a few also of greater
interest about the shooting. The shooting was of course still the
property of the old man, and in the early months had, without many words
spoken, become, as it were, an appanage of the condition of life to
which Augustus aspired; but of late Mountjoy had assumed the command.
"You found plenty of pheasants here, I suppose," Augustus remarked.

"Well, yes; not too many. I didn't trouble myself much about it. When I
saw a pheasant I shot it. I've been a little troubled in spirit, you
know."

"Gambling again, I heard."

"That didn't trouble me much. Merton can tell you that we've had a
sick-house."

"Yes, indeed," said Merton. "It hasn't seemed to be a time in which a
man would think very much of his pheasants."

"I don't know why," said Augustus, who was determined not to put up with
the rebuke implied in the doctor's words. After that there was nothing
more said between them till they all went to their separate apartments.
"Don't contradict him," his aunt said to him the next morning, "and if
he reprimands you, acknowledge that you have been wrong."

"That's hard, when I haven't been wrong."

"But so much depends upon it; and he is so stern. Of course, I wish well
for both of you. There is plenty enough,--plenty; if only you could agree
together."

"But the injustice of his treatment. Is it true that he now declares
Mountjoy to be the eldest son?"

"I believe so. I do not know, but I believe it."

"Think of what his conduct has been to me. And then you tell me that I
am to own that I have been wrong! In what have I been wrong?"

"He is your father, and I suppose you have said hard words to him."

"Did I rebuke him because he had fraudulently kept me for so many years
in the position of a younger son? Did I