."

Hector bowed. After what he had heard, his interest in other matters was
but faint.

"I shall be glad to get him out of the house," thought Allan Roscoe. "I
never liked him."

CHAPTER IV. A SKIRMISH.

Hector walked out of the house in a state of mental bewilderment not
easily described. Was he not Hector Roscoe, after all? Had he been all
his life under a mistake? If this story were true, who was he, who were
his parents, what was his name? Why had the man whom he had supposed to
be his father not imparted to him this secret? He had always been kind
and indulgent; he had never appeared to regard the boy as an alien in
blood, but as a dearly loved son. Yet, if he had, after all, left him
unprovided for, he had certainly treated Hector with great cruelty.

"I won't believe it," said Hector, to himself.

"I won't so wrong my dear father's memory at the bidding of this man,
whose interest it is to trump up this story, since he and his son become
the owners of a great estate in my place."

Just then Guy advanced toward Hector with a malicious smile upon his
face. He knew very well what a blow poor Hector had received, for he
was in his father's confidence, and he was mean enough, and malicious
enough, to rejoice at it.

"What's the matter with you, Hector?" he asked, with a grin. "You look
as if you had lost your last friend."

Hector stopped short and regarded Guy fixedly.

"Do you know what your father has been saying to me?" he asked.

"Well, I can guess," answered Guy. "Ho! ho! It's a great joke that you
have all the time fancied yourself the heir of Castle Roscoe, when you
have no claim to it at all. I am the heir!" he added, drawing himself up
proudly; "and you are a poor dependent, and a nobody. It's funny!"

"Perhaps you won't think it so funny after this!" said Hector, coolly,
exasperated beyond endurance. As he spoke he drew off, and in an instant
Guy measured his length upon the greensward.

Guy rose, his face livid with passion, in a frame of mind far from
funny. He clinched his fists and looked at Hector as if he wished to
annihilate him. "You'll pay for this," he screamed. "You'll repent it,
bitterly, you poor, nameless dependent, low-born, very likely--"

"Hold, there!" said Hector, advancing resolutely, and sternly facing the
angry boy. "Be careful what you say. If this story of your father's is
true, which I don't believe, you might have the decency to let me
alone, even if you