elation his shallow nature felt at realizing this, but that
elation was short-lived, and dashed by the thought that this ruler, this
debauchee, this drunken, swearing, roaring tavern knight was his father;
dashed by the knowledge that meanwhile the Parliament was master,
and that whilst matters stood so, the Ashburns could defy--could even
destroy him, did they learn how much he knew; dashed by the memory that
Cynthia, whom in his selfish way--out of his love for himself--he loved,
vas lost to him for all time.

And here, swinging in a circle, his thoughts reverted to the cause of
this--Crispin Galliard, the man who had betrayed him into yesternight's
foul business and destroyed his every chance of happiness; the man whom
he hated, and whom, had he possessed the courage as he was possessed
by the desire, he had risen up and slain; the man that now announced
himself his father.

And thinking thus, he sat on in silent, resentful vexation. He started
to feel a hand upon his shoulder, and to hear the voice of Galliard
evidently addressing him, yet using a name that was new to him.

"Jocelyn, my boy," the voice trembled. "You have thought, and you have
realized--is it not so? I too thought, and thought brought me conviction
that what that paper tells is true."

Vaguely then the boy remembered that Jocelyn was the name the letter
gave him. He rose abruptly, and brushed the caressing hand from his
shoulder. His voice was hard--possibly the knowledge that he had
gained told him that he had nothing to fear from this man, and in that
assurance his craven soul grew brave and bold and arrogant.

"I have realized naught beyond the fact that I owe you nothing but
unhappiness and ruin. By a trick, by a low fraud, you enlisted me into
a service that has proved my undoing. Once a cheat always a cheat. What
credit in the face of that can I give this paper?" he cried, talking
wildly. "To me it is incredible, nor do I wish to credit it, for though
it were true, what then? What then?" he repeated, raising his voice into
accents of defiance.

Grief and amazement were blended in Galliard's glance, and also, maybe,
some reproach.

Hogan, standing squarely upon the hearth, was beset by the desire to
kick Master Kenneth, or Master Jocelyn, into the street. His lip curled
into a sneer of ineffable contempt, for his shrewd eyes read to the
bottom of the lad's mean soul and saw there clearly writ the confidence
that emboldened him to voice