l Lois the truth," he said: "she will then judge me and say
whether you are right or wrong. I came here to-night to see if I could
help you both. You know, Paul Boriskoff, how much I wish to do so. While
I have money, it is yours also. Have not Lois and I always been as your
children? You cannot forbid me to act as a son should, just because I
have come into my inheritance. Let me find you a better home and take
you away from this dismal place. Then I shall be doing right to worship
money. Will you not let me do so? There is nothing in life half so good
as helping those we love--I am sure of it already, and it is only five
weeks since I came into my inheritance. Give me the right and let me
still call you father."

Old Paul was much affected, but he would not let the lad see as much.
Avoiding the question discreetly but not unkindly, he muttered, "No, no,
I need no help. I am an old man and what happens to me does not matter."
And then turning the subject swiftly, he asked, "Your patron, he has
left England, has he not?"

"He has gone to Paris, I believe."

"Did he speak of the business that took him there?"

"He never speaks of business to me. He has asked me once or twice about
the poor people down here and I have tried to tell him. Such a fortune
as his could redeem thousands of lives, Paul. I have told him that when
he spoke to me."

"Such a man will never redeem one life. All the money in the world will
never buy him rest. He has eaten his harvest and the fields are bare.
Did you mention my name to him?"

"I do not think that I have done so yet."

"Naturally, you would have been a little ashamed to speak of us. It is
very rarely that one who becomes rich remembers those who were poor with
him. His money only teaches him to judge them. Those who were formerly
his friends are now spendthrifts, extravagant folk who should not be
injured by assistance. The rich man makes their poverty an excuse for
deserting them, and he cloaks his desertion beneath lofty moral
sentiments. You are too young to do so, but the same spirit is already
leading you. Beware of it, Alban Kennedy, for it will lead you to
destruction."

Alban did not know how to argue with him. He resented the accusation
hotly and yet could make no impression of resentment upon the imagined
grievance which old Paul nursed almost affectionately. It were better,
he thought, to hold his tongue and to let the old man continue.

"Your patron has gone to Pa