eckless doings. Erle looked dreadfully shocked as he read it; and the
expression of concentrated anger on Mr. Huntingdon's face frightened
him still more.

"Perhaps it is not true," he stammered, and then the remembrance of
his conversation with Percy silenced him.

"True," returned Mr. Huntingdon, in his hard rasping voice; "do you
not see that the writer says he can prove every word? And this is my
grandson, whom I have taken out of poverty. Well, well, I might have
known the son of Maurice Trafford would never be worth anything."

Strangely unjust words to be spoken of Nea's idolized Maurice, whose
pure soul would have revolted against his boy's sins. Erle felt the
cruelty of the speech; but he dare not contradict his uncle. What were
the Traffords to him now?

There was to be a large gentlemen's dinner-party at Belgrave House
that evening. Some East Indian director was to be feted, and several
city magnates were to honor it by their presence. Erle wondered that
Percy did not make his appearance, for he was always punctual on such
occasions; but Mr. Huntingdon did not seem to notice his absence. The
guests thought their host looked grayer and more bowed than usual, and
that his step was feebler. He was getting an old man now, they said to
themselves; and it would not be long before there would be a new
master at Belgrave House. Any one could see he was breaking fast, and
would not last long. Well, he had done well for himself; and his heir
was to be envied, for he would be a rich man, and scarcely needed the
splendid dowry that Evelyn Selby would bring him.

The banquet was just drawing to its close when there were signs of
some disturbance in the household. The butler whispered to Erle, who
immediately left the room, and a few minutes later a message was
brought to Mr. Huntingdon.

Something had happened--something dreadful had happened, they told
him, and he must come with them at once; and he had shuddered and
turned pale.

He was growing old, and his nerves were not as strong as they used to
be, and he supported himself with some difficulty as he bowed to his
guests with old-fashioned politeness, and, excusing himself, begged
his old friend Sir Frederick Drummond to take his place. But as the
door closed behind him, and he found himself surrounded by frightened
servants, he tottered and his face grew gray.

"You will kill me among you," he muttered. "Where is my nephew? Will
none of you fools tell me wh