r Norfolk Island,--if he squared his
conduct to such topsy-turvy notions of the world as I find here."

"How many years are you my senior," asked Vivian, sneeringly, "that you
should play the mentor and correct my ignorance of the world?"

"Vivian, it is not age and experience that speak here, it is something
far wiser than they,--the instinct of a man's heart and a gentleman's
honor."

"Well, well," said Vivian, rather discomposed, "let the poor books
alone; you know my creed--that books influence us little one way or the
other."

"By the great Egyptian library and the soul of Diodorus! I wish you
could hear my father upon that point. Come," added I, with sublime
compassion, "come, it is not too late, do let me introduce you to my
father. I will consent to read French novels all my life if a single
chat with Austin Caxton does not send you home with a happier face and
lighter heart. Come, let me take you back to dine with us to-day."

"I cannot," said Vivian, with some confusion; "I cannot, for this day
I leave London. Some other time perhaps,--for," he added, but not
heartily, "we may meet again."

"I hope so," said I, wringing his hand, "and that is likely, since,
in spite of yourself, I have guessed your secret,--your birth and
parentage."

"How!" cried Vivian, turning pale and gnawing his lip. "What do you
mean? Speak."

"Well, then, are you not the lost, runaway son of Colonel Vivian? Come,
say the truth; let us be confidants."

Vivian threw off a succession of his abrupt sighs; and, then, seating
himself, leaned his face on the table, confused, no doubt, to find
himself discovered.

"You are near the mark," said he, at last, "but do not ask me further
yet. Some day," he cried impetuously, and springing suddenly to his
feet, "some day you shall know all,--yes, some day, if I live, when that
name shall be high in the world; yes, when the world is at my feet!" He
stretched his right hand as if to grasp the space, and his whole face
was lighted with a fierce enthusiasm. The glow died away, and with a
slight return of his scornful smile he said: "Dreams yet; dreams! And
now, look at this paper." And he drew out a memorandum, scrawled over
with figures.

"This, I think, is my pecuniary debt to you; in a few days I shall
discharge it. Give me your address."

"Oh!" said I, pained, "can you speak to me of money, Vivian?"

"It is one of those instincts of honor you cite so often," answered he,
coloring. "