iet again also?

"After all," said the old gentleman to himself, "it's not the young
fellow's fault. If his father was a heartless scoundrel, it doesn't
follow that he knows it. Well, the man is dead--it can't be helped now,
that's certain. But what a cunningly-contrived plot it is! Shuts my
mouth by confiding to me the _incognito_ and sending me the son to
educate; destroys the last hope of setting an old wrong right; takes
advantage, for base ends, of the deepest feelings of human hearts: not
to speak of preventing the young man himself from being party to a noble
and generous action. Did ever man carry such a load down to the grave!

"Suppose Margaret--no! it isn't likely she would know any thing about
it. He wasn't the man to make confidants of women. She gave the message
to the son, not knowing what it meant, probably. Why, he wouldn't have
dared to tell her! And then inviting Cornelia--no, no! I've had some
acquaintance with Margaret, and, with all her nonsense, I believe she's
honest. Besides, what interest could she have to be otherwise? To be
sure, she didn't give me the true reason for the _incognito_; but that's
nothing; she's just the woman to tell a useless fib, and reserve the
truth for important occasions only--or what she thinks such."

The professor remained a while longer at the window, abstractedly
staring at the drops which hastened after one another from the wet
eaves. Suddenly he turned around, and walked up to the table, flapping
his slipper-heels, and settling his spectacles, as he went.

"Did any one ever speak to you of your mother, sir?" demanded he in the
ear of the reading Bressant. "Confound the fellow!" passed at the same
time through his mind; "does he think I'm a chair or a table?"

"My mother?" repeated the young man, looking up, and appearing somewhat
surprised at the idea of his ever having possessed the article. "Oh,
yes! my father once told me she was dead. It was long ago. I'd almost
forgotten it."

"Told you she was dead, hey? Humph! just what I expected!" growled the
old gentleman, who seemed, however, to become additionally wrathful at
the intelligence. After a moment's scowl straight at his would-be pupil,
he shuffled up to his chair, and sat solidly down in it. Bressant (to
whom the professor had probably appeared to the full as peculiar as he
to the professor), seeing signs of an approach to business in his action
and attitude, tossed his book on the table, leaned forwar